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REMAINS 


J.A.PRINGLE 


^"•^>_A  *^"°** 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


~  0       Cx4*<fi>*~*r*-S*~  is^f-^je- 


11*3- 


SELECT   REMAINS 


OF 


JOHN  ALEXANDER  PRINGLE,  Esq. 


PRINTED  FOR  PRIVATE  CIRCULATION. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  BY  HARRISON  AND  CO.,  ST.  MARTIN'S  LANE. 

M.DCCC.XLI. 


INTRODUCTION. 


This  little  volume  was  selected  and  arranged  by  the  late  Sir 
Andrew  Halliday,  K.H.,  whose  lamented  death  has  deprived 
it  of  the  advantage  of  being  finished  by  his  skilful  hand. 
Perhaps  the  best  preface  that  can  now  accompany  it,  is  one 
or  two  extracts  from  Sir  Andrew's  letters  to  Mr.  Pringle's 
sisters  on  the  subject.  His  acquaintance  with  our  brother 
was  of  very  short  duration,  but  long  enough  for  him  to  form 
a  very  high  idea  of  his  character ;  which,  after  our  brother's 
death,  on  the  perusal  of  some  of  his  writings,  ripened  into  an 
enthusiastic  admiration.  It  might  be  an  indulgence  to  our- 
selves, and  pleasing  to  those  friends  who  knew  our  brother 
best,  and  for  whom  these  remains  are  printed,  to  quote  here 
some  of  the  no  less  discerning  than  flattering  expressions 
regarding  him  of  one  whose  own  character  made  those  expres- 
sions peculiarly  gratifying  to  us.  But  our  friends,  recalling 
as  we  do  the  sensitive  delicacy  of  that  brother's  feelings  on 
the  least  approach  to  ostentation  or  display,  will  rather  appro ve 
of  our  merely  quoting  here  Sir  Andrew's  opinion  of  his  verses. 
On  January  12,  1839,  Sir  Andrew  writes : — "  I  have  read 
with  more  interest  than  I  can  express  the  manuscript  and 
poems  of  your  dear  brother.  Many  of  the  latter  are  so  truly 
beautiful  that  they  ought  not  to  be  lost I  could 

7  a2 


IV  INTRODUCTION. 


make  a  little  book  out  of  what  is  now  in  my  possession,  and 
one  that  I  conceive  would  be  highly  prized  by  all  who  ever 
knew  or  loved  him ;  if  you  will  permit  me,  it  will  be  indeed  a 
labour  of  love." 

Again,  on  July  12,  he  writes: — "The  more  I  have  seen 
of  your  dear  brother's  letters  and  papers,  the  more  have  I 
become  impressed  with  the  propriety  of  their  being-  preserved 
as  one  of  the  most  important  legacies  that  he  could  have  left, 
and  as  the  greatest  boon  that  you,  his  sisters,  can  bestow  upon 
the  rising  plants  of  the  Pringle  stem." 

To  the  sixteen  dear  Nephews,  then,  of  our  departed 
brother,  we  dedicate  this  little  volume ;  with  our  earnest 
prayer,  that  one  and  all  of  them  may  be  "  followers  of  him 
who  now  through  faith  and  patience  inherits  the  promises. 

Yair, 
January  13,  1840. 


5? 


SELECT   REMAINS 


OF 


JOHN  ALEXANDER  PRINGLE,  Esq 

CLASSED    ACCORDING    TO    THE    YEARS    IN    WHICH    THEY 
WERE    WRITTEN. 


The  following  lines,  entitled  "  Albin  go  Bragh,"  are  dated 
Rajmahl,  12th  August,  1814.  It  has  evidently  been  sug- 
gested by  some  sweet  recollections  of  home,  and  is  written  in 
imitation  of  the  Exile  of  Erin,  by  Thomas  Campbell : — 

ALBIN  GO  BRAGH. 

Sad  was  my  heart,  when  I  cross'd  the  rough  ocean, 

Far  from  thy  shore,  Caledonia,  to  roam  ; 
Sad  moan'd  the  blast,  as  I  sighM  on  its  bosom, 

Fare  thee  well,  Scotia,  fare  thee  well,  home. 


D  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

To  the  land  of  the  stranger  o'er  blue  billows  borne, 
From  scenes  I  love  dearest  I  wander  forlorn ; 
And  vain  is  the  sigh  fondly  breath'd  for  return, 
To  see  thee,  my  Scotia,  to  hail  thee,  my  home. 

Where  India's  green  woodland  in  summer  is  smiling, 
Where's  Gunga's  dun  wave  rolls  crested  with  foam, 

Each  scene  that  is  lovely,  fond  fancy  beguiling, 
111  say  it  is  Scotia,  I'll  think  it  is  home. 

How  sweet  the  delusion  ;  too  soon  it  is  over ; 

And  far  from  thy  lands  must  I  long  be  a  rover, 

Ere  the  dim  mist  of  time,  rolling  off,  can  discover, 
Thy  mountains,  my  Scotia,  and  show  me  my  home. 

For  me  on  thy  heath  now  no  breezes  are  blowing, 
No  longer  for  me  do  thy  green  valleys  bloom, 

No  more  must  I  see  Tweed's  dimpled  stream  flowing, 
Wandering  from  Scotia,  I  know  not  a  home. 

But  can  I  forget  Caledonia?  oh  never ! 

Though  distant  thy  woods  and  each  wild  winding  river, 

Though  parted,  alas,  from  my  country  for  ever, 
My  sigh  is  for  Scotia,  my  heart  is  at  home. 

Rajmahl,  12th  August,  1814.  J.  A.  Pringle. 

As  a  specimen  of  his  attachment  to  his  native  tongue,  I 
insert  here,  from  a  letter  to  his  youngest  brother,  David,  then 


t 


JOHN    ALEXANDER   PRINGLE.  ' 

a  boy  at  school,  some  excellent  verses  on  the  battle  of  Water- 
loo, the  news  of  which  had  apparently  jnst  reached  Calcutta. 

As  frae  the  tryst  I  did  come  down, 
I  met  a  chiel  frae  Brussels  town, 
Guid  een,  quoth  I,  friend,  whar  ye  boun 
Quae  tak  a  cup  the  night  man. 

I  speer'd  the  news,  quoth  he,  Fve  seen 
As  tough  a  fight  as  e'er  has  been, 
The  British  and  the  French  atween, 
It  was  an  unco  sight  man. 

A  hunder  thousan  Frenchmen  guid, 
Wi  Buonaparte  bauldly  stood, 
But  sixty  thousan  British  bluid, 

Taught  them  the  way  to  fight  man. 

The  sun  was  up,  and  blinkit  gay, 
Or  Wellington  begood  the  fray, 
But  sic  a  rout  as  was  that  day, 
He  never  coost  a  light  on. 

Twad  tak  a  weary  time  to  tell, 
Wha  bravely  feught  and  bravely  fell, 
Ilk  ane  a  hero  shaw'd  himsell 
When  he  begood  to  fight  man. 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


The  English  guards  drew  out  their  front 
Into  the  yerd  o"  Hugomont, 
And  stiffly  there  they  bore  the  brunt, 
And  pat  the  French  to  flight  man. 

Troops  on  troops,  the  wale  o'  France, 
Upon  the  British  horse  advance, 
Ilk  had  an  aim  coat,  or  lance, 

And  wow  but  they  lookt  bright  man. 

Nae  aim  jacket  saved  their  hide, 
Owr  hosts  o1  French  our  troopers  ride, 
The  lancers  tough,  yet  couldna  bide 
Our  bauld  dragoons  to  fight  man. 

Three  hunder  cannon  fired  for  France, 
Gart  shot  like  hail  among  us  dance, 
Ye'd  thought  the  British  stuid  nae  chance, 
But  wad  be  fellM  outright  man. 

The  British  guns  they  roar'd  fu  loud, 
And  o'  her  guns  we  may  be  proud, 
For  ilka  gun  was  bathed  wi  bluid, 
Sae  stanch  the  lads  did  fight  man. 

Napoleon's  guards  in  thousans  rin, 
To  fight  twa  hunder  heelandmen, 
They  threapt  to  scare  us  wi  their  din, 
And  fell  our  folk  wi  fright  man. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE. 

Nae  Scot  is  he  that  e'er  wad  flinch, 
They'd  see  them  hang'd,  or  gie  an  inch, 
And  thought  but  how  to  fell  the  French, 
Then  till  't  wi  all  their  might  man. 

The  French,  like  thistles,  maw'd  the  men, 
Like  Scotland's  flowers  they  jagged  again, 
And  feught  till  all  the  feck  war  slain. 
Ye  ne'er  saw  sic  a  sight  man. 

The  diels  i  kilts,  the  Frenchman  cried, 
And  aff  they  set,  but  wae  betide, 
The  Greys  clean  through  their  ranks  did  ride. 
And  did  them  up  downright  man. 

The  life  guards  followed  Uxbridge  stout, 
Wi  Buonaparte  to  hae  a  bout, 
And  nab  the  chap  made  a  the  rout, 
Afore  he  left  the  height  man. 

The  gallant  Uxbridge  lost  a  leg, 
But  Buonaparte  gat  sic  a  fleg, 
He  wadna  bide,  but  sprog'd  his  naig, 
And  far  he  fled  for  fright  man. 

Ilk  Frenchman  turn'd  upon  his  heel, 
And  scour'd  as  driven  by  the  diel, 
And  but  the  pipes  they  danc'd  a  reel, 
Till  they  war  out  o'  sight  man. 

B 


10  SELECT    REMAIN'S    OF 

But  Britain  in  her  joy  maun  rue, 
The  day  she  wan  at  Waterloo, 
For  fate  \vi  Britons  thick  did  strew, 
The  field  whare  they  did  fight  man. 

Picton,   Howard,  Ponsonby, 
And  Miller,  fell  amid  the  fray, 
And  mony  a  ane  that  feught  that  day, 
Was  cauld  and  dead  at  night  man. 

Their  country  aye  shall  mind  wi  pride, 
Her  sons  at  Waterloo  that  died, 
And  a  that  bravely  France  defied, 
And  bled  for  Britain's  right  man. 

And  now  that  a  the  fight  is  done, 
Let's  tak  a  drap  to  Wellington, 
And  here's  to  George  that  wears  the  crown, 
And  sets  the  world  right  man. 

I  have  room  for  no  more,  except  to  tell  you  that 

I  am  your  very  affectionate  brother, 

December  31  st,  1816.  J.  A.  Pringle. 


As  a  specimen  of  the  ancient  style  of  Caledonian  song, 
nothing  can  be  more  classic,  either  as  to  expression  or  idiom  : 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  11 

and  few  better  verses  have  ever  been  written  on  the  glorious 
victory  to  which  it  relates. 


1819. 

LINES  WRITTEN  TO  A  PERSIAN  AIR. 

Rocked  on  the  ocean,  and  lulPcl  by  the  billow, 

"Mid  the  vessel's  rude  motion,  serene  on  bis  pillow 

The  wanderer  slumbers ;  of  what  is  he  dreaming  ? 

He  sees  not  the  glare  of  the  lightning  gleaming, 

He  heeds  not  the  wave  o'er  the  shaking  ship  streaming, 

But  calm  is  his  rest  amid  horror  and  gloom ; 

His  senses  have  stray'd  to  a  happier  clime, 

His  fancy  hath  fled  to  a  happier  time, 

And  lightly  a  smile  on  his  forehead  is  beaming, 

Of  scenes  far  away,  of  past  pleasure  he's  dreaming, 

His  spirit  is  lulPd  in  the  joys  of  his  home. 

What  cheers  the  wanderer's  days  of  sorrow? 
What  cherishes  hope  for  a  happier  morrow? 
What  teaches  thought  to  fancy  heaven  ? 
No  soft  soothing  power  to  harmony  given ; 
Not  the  high  heaving  wave  by  the  wild  wind  driven, 

b  2 


12  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

When  stars  frequent  flashing  illumine  the  foam; 

Not  the  blush  of  the  morn,  on  the  mountain  that  smiles 

Like  hope's  vainest  vision  that  childhood  beguiles. 

Awfully  grand  rolls  the  wave  in  the  storm, 

Sweet  harmony  soothes  us,  bright  blushes  the  morn, 

But  if  earth  hold  a  heaven,  that  heaven  is  home. 

Home  !  oh,  that  magical  name  hath  charms, 

Bright  sun  of  my  hope,  my  heart  it  warms, 

Its  beam  through  the  gloom  of  my  solitude  throwing, 

Fond  friends  far  away  to  my  memory  showing, 

Soft  on  the  scenes  of  my  infancy  glowing, 

It  cheers  with  a  prospect  of  pleasure  to  come  ; 

Scotia,  my  country,  its  light  is  on  thee, 

Fair  land  of  the  mountain — land  of  the  free, 

The  wanderer's  bosom  for  Scotia  burns, 

My  souPs  dearest  wish  to  my  Scotia  turns, 

And  rests  on  thy  heath,  lovely  land  of  my  home. 

J.  A.  Pringle. 


The  following-  letter  to  his  sister  Margaret  is  in  the 
favourite  rhythm  of  Burns.  I  may  observe  that  the  two  first 
stanzas  of  the  dream  introduced  into  this  epistle  had  been 
composed  several  years  before,  as  a  song  to  the  tune  of  the 
"  Bush  aboon  Traquair." 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  13 


Nattore,  the  Daft  Days,  1819. 

Dear  Meg,  'tis  nae  mair  strange  than  true, 
Though  troth  ye're  right,  it's  something  new 
My  louting  down*  to  write  to  you 

A  verse  or  twa; 
I'll  never  do  it  younger,  now. 

So  read  awa. 

What  gaurs  ye  laugh?  it  may  be  queer, 
But  now  I  mind,  it's  the  new  year, 
When  folks  run  mad,  and  nane  will  speer 

If  daft  they  be ; 

I  wish  ye  joy  on't;   mony  mair 

I  hope  yell  see. 

I  got  your  screed  that  Colin  brought, 
I  read  it  twice,  and  gave't  a  thought; 
But  doubt  the  biggin  that  yeVe  wrought 

Aboon  the  lift, 
Is  just  a  cloud,  and  when  it's  sought 

Flees  aff  like  drift. 


*  Louting  down,  condescending. 


14 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


I  like  your  castle  in  the  air, 

But  Maggy,  lass,  Fm  far  frae  Yair, 

Wi  pouches  toom,  it's  unca  sair 

To  toddje  hame; 
But  though  I'm  here,  my  thoughts  are  there, 

And  that's  the  same. 

I'm  surely  dazed,  I  think  I'm  there, 

I  canna  sing,  I  dinna  care, 

I  hum  the  bush  aboon  Traquair, 

And  down  the  brae, 
Ayont  Raelees  a  keek  0'  Yair 

I  dream  I  hae. 

Whisht ! — Why  glow'd  my  cheek  as  o'er  yon  knovve 

My  weary  footsteps  bore  me? 
Why  lap  my  heart  as  it  wad  part 

And  won  the  glen  afore  me  ? 
I  saw  frae  there  my  hame  ance  mair, 

O  how  the  sisfht  did  cheer  me ; 
Ilk  weel  ken't  glen,  the  braes  o'  Tweed, 

Wi1  lang  lost  joys  were  near  me. 
Ye  rich,  wha  fortune  find  at  hame, 

An  ilka  pleasure  catch  at; 
A  wanderer  puir,  ae  joy  could  name, 

Your  wealth  could  never  match  that. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  15 

Your  warmest  thought  can  fancy  nought 

I  felt  as  hame  grew  nearer, 
A  nee  mair  to  see  the  braes  o'  Tweed ; 

What  braes  to  me  are  dearer? 
Ay,  Meg,  I  mind,  but  ne'er  can  tell 

My  joy  when  first  I  saw  them; 
The  rainbow's  tints  aboon  yon  hill ! 

What  painter  e'er  could  dra'  them  \ 
Though  fortune's  wheel  should  crush  me  still, 

Though  care's  rough  thorns  should  tear  me; 
The  day  I  saw  the  braes  o'  Tweed 

I'll  mind, — the  thought  will  cheer  me. 

My  dream's  gane  by,  I  scarcely  see, 
Saut's  the  tear  that  dims  my  e'e, 
And  in  my  craig  a  lumpy  wee 

Has  stopt  my  lilt ; 
Deep,  deep's  the  sea  'twixt  Yair  and  me, 

Ere  I  win  tilt. 

It's  balmy  like  for  folk  to  fret, 
For  ilka  dye  they  canna  get ; 
I'm  blythe  and  weel,  at  ony  rate, 

Though  far  awa; 
And  we  may  see  ilk  ither  yet 

In  spite  o'  a'. 


16  SELECT   REMAINS    OF 

I  hac  nae  time  to  tire  by  day; 
I  soundly  sleep  the  nights  away, 
As  gleg  when  I  can  get  the  play 

As  weans  at  school ; 
Without  content,  wi  a'  I  hae, 

Fd  be  a  fool. 

Of  Willie  an  his  wife  yell  speer, 
They're  thriven  baith  wi1  a1  their  gear ; 
And  if  the  tale  be  true  I  hear 

Frae  them   the  now ; 
Soon  they  will  hae  a  baby  dear 

To  dawdle  too. 

O'  Lindsay's  and  the  rest  that  you 
May  ken  o',  in  this  country  now 
The  feint  a  word  I  hae  that's  new 

To  tell  you  here ; 
They're  weel,  I  doubt  na,  that's  enow, 

If  ony  speer. 

But  ye'll  bo  tiring  now,  nae  doubt, 
My  jingling  fancy's  near  run  out ; 
I've  little  too  to  write  about, 

And  at  this  time 
It's  hard  to  find  a  word  to  clout 

My  daft  like  rhyme. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  ID 

So  fare  ye  weel,  I'll  write  nae  mair, 
111  mind  your  castle  in  the  air; 
May  we  yet  meet  at  bonny  Yair, 

And  when  we  see 
That  day,  may  ilka  ane  that's  there 

Be  blythe  as  we. 

But  should  I  chance  to  dee,  ere  then 
(For  folks  will  sometimes  dee  ye  ken) 
Tak  frae  Yair  craig  a  blue  whinstane 

My  grave  to  grace ; 
And  when  aboon  my  kirpin  bane 

Scart  on  its  face. 

i 

"  Johnny's  carcase,  bones  and  all, 

Lie  buried  here  I  trow ; 
A  man  of  earthly  stature  small — 

We  hope  he's  higher  now. 
Johnny  was  in  Scotia  bred, 

Though  small,  it  had  not  room  to  hold  him, 
So  off  to  India  Johnny  fled, 

Where  roads  were  paved  with  gold  they  told  him. 
But  Indian  roads  were  made  of  mould, 

As  Johnny  found,  and  others  must, 

And  e'er  their  dust  was  turned  to  gold, 

Poor  Johnny's  bones  were  turned  to  dust." 

c  2 


'20  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

He's  daft,  he's  daft,  ye'll  say  it's  clear, 

I'm  easy  what  ye  say,  but  hear, 

It  cost  me  three  good  hours,  my  dear, 

To  write  to  you; 
They  might  been  better  spent,  I  fear, 

Nae  help  for't   now. 

So  to  the  parlour  "toddle  ben,'''' 

Wun  down  the  ink, — tak*  up  yere  pen, 

And  tell's  your  cracks,  an1  how  ye  fen? 

In  prose  or  jingle 
I  am  your  brither,  Meg,  ye  ken, 

CaM  J.  A.  Pringle. 


Inclosed  in  this  letter  he  sent  the  annexed  sketch,  in  which 
the  epitaph  is  a  little  altered. 


1827. 


From  the  date  of  these  beautiful  lines,  his  muse  seems  to 
have  fallen  asleep ;  for  of  the  next  eight  years  not  a  line  has 
been  preserved.  This  year  only  produces  two  pieces ;  the 
following  Paraphrase  on  John  vi.   15 — 22,  and  what  he  is 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  21 

pleased  to  call  a  translation  of  a  Wouh-wo-wo-wb-wo-woh ! 
or  little  Doggy's  Dirgee*. 

St.  John's  Gospel,  Chap.  VI.,  Ver.   15 — 22. 

The  sun  has  gone  down,  but  all  lurid  and  red, 

The  last  of  his  rays  on  the  water  was  shed ; 

Night  closes  around,  and  the  sea  rises  fast, 

How  dismal  the  moan  of  the  gathering  blast ! 

Pale,  pale  is  the  moon,  and  her  watery  beams 

Are  lost  in  the  flash  when  the  lightning  gleams. 

The  mariners  watchful  have  furled  their  sail, 

And  anxiously  wait  for  the  rush  of  the  gale. 

More  swift  o'er  the  moon  scud  the  gray  storm  clouds, 

More  hoarsely  the  wind  rustles  now  on  the  shrouds  ; 

They  lash  down  the  helm  and  the  storm-sail  spread, 

And  the  deep  rolling  ship  meets  the  wave  with  her  head. 

She  bounds  o'er  the  billow — but  hark  !  what  a  crash  ! 

How  swiftly  that  thunder-clap  follow1d  the  flash  ! 

The  wind  shifts  about,  and  the  hurricane's  sweep 

Roars  awfully  over  the  face  of  the  deep. 

Now  waves  against  waves  in  confusion  are  hurFd, 

And  white  foaming  breakers  high  o'er  them  are  curFcl ; 

*  The  description  given  by  a  lady  of  the  death  of  Bustle,  a  mutual  friend's  favourite 
lap-dog,  so  amused  Mr.  Pringle,  by  the  grave  way  in  which  she  told  him  how  "  he  seemed 
to  feel  he  was  dying,  and  never  wandered,  but  laid  himself  down  on  the  rug,  and  pre- 
pared himself." 


--  .SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

And  tempest  meets  tempest,  and  frequent  and  far 

Red  lightnings  illumine  the  elements1  war. 

Among  the  dark  billows  the  vessel  sinks  down  ; 

Now  she  rides  through  the  spray  as  a  crest  on  their  crown  ; 

And  mountain-like  seas  on  the  temp  est- toss' d  wreck 

Dash  rudely,  and  roll  o'er  her  quivering  deck. 

Oh  !  who,  while  the  storm  and  the  hurricanes  rave, 

Walks  over  the  foam  upon  Galilee's  wave  I 

'Tis  a  spirit  the  terror-struck  mariners  cry ; 

Be  cheerful,  and  fear  not,  he  said,  "  It  is  I." 

The  tempest  is  hush'd  at  his  mighty  command, 

And  gently  the  vessel  is  wafted  to  land  ; 

With  wonder  they  witness  the  power  of  his  word, 

And  they  worship  the  Saviour  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

Omnipotent  Father,  wherever  we  be, 

May  the  eye  of  our  Faith  be  directed  to  Thee ; 

When  we  wander  in  doubt,  may  thy  word  be  our  guide, 

May  we  know  that  our  Saviour  still  walks  by  our  side ; 

When  dangers  surround  us  on  sea  or  on  land, 

May  we  feel  that  thy  Providence  still  is  at  hand  ; 

In  joy  or  in  sorrow,  in  life  or  in  death, 

May  we  look  to  our  Maker  who  gave  us  our  breath ; 

When  thy  voice  through  the  tempest  proclaims  in  our  ear. 

That  our  souls  are  requir'd,  and  thy  coming  is  near. 

May  we  welcome  the  Saviour  who  beckons  us  home, 

And  exclaim,  Even  so  holy  Jesus,  O  come  ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  23 

Support  us,  O  Lord  !  when  with  terror  we  sink, 

Be  with  us,  0  Lord  !  on  eternity's  brink ; 

And,  oh  !  when  our  hour  of  mortality's  past, 

May  we  rest  with  our  Saviour  in  heaven  at  last. 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
8.  Lab.  34°  48'.    E.  Long.  24°  56'. 

At  sea,  2nd  of  May,  1827. 


TRANSLATION  OF  A  WOUH-WO-WO-WO-WO-WOH ! 

OR, 

LITTLE  DOGGY'S  DIRGEE, 

AS    LAMENTABLY    SUNG    BY    OLD    JESSY,    AT    POOR    OLD    BUSTLe's    WAKE. 

Bustle's  dead  and  Bustle's  buried, 
Bustlers  dead  and  Bustle's  gone ! 

To  his  grave  is  Bustle  hurried, 
Poor  old  Jessy's  left  alone  ! 

Fancy  little  Jessy's  sorrow, 
Fancy,  fancy  how  she  cried ! 

Oh  could  she  but  die  to-morrow, 
And  lie  by  pretty  Bustle's  side. 

Curly  was  his  coat  all  over, 
Curly,  curly  were  his  lugs, 

Never  fault  could  man  discover 
In  this  best  of  little  dogs. 


2i 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

But  vain  his  worth,  and  vain  each  curl, 
Bustle's  time  was  come  to  go, 

Grim  death,  that  settles  all  the  world, 
Has  laid  poor  pretty  Bustle  low. 

A  dog  of  wisdom  Bustle  was, 
He  never  wander'd  in  his  illness, 

But  on  the  rug  he  stretch'd  his  paws, 
Just  kick'd  a  kick,  and  all  was  stillness. 

Green's  the  turf  o'er  Bustle's  head ! 
Green's  the  grass  on  Bustle's  tail  ! 

And  round  the  mound  are  violets  spread, 
Sweetly  mix'd  with  lilies  pale. 

Oh,  Bustle's  dead  and  Bustle's  buried ! 
Bustle's  dead  and  Bustle's  gone ! 

Bustle  to  his  grave  has  hurried, 
And  left  old  Jessy  all  alone ! ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  25 


1828. 


While  at  Inverness  on  a  Sunday,  in  July,  lie  composed 
the  following  beautiful  Prayers,  which  are  written  on  the 
blank  leaves  of  his  Bible, — his  constant  companion.  They 
are  indeed  worthy  of  being-  preserved*. 

A  PRAYER, 

WRITTEN    ON    THE    BLANK    LEAF    OF    HIS    BIBLE. 

Eternal  Majesty,  great  God  of  all, 
Ruler  omnipotent,  omniscient, 
To  human  thought  incomprehensible, 
O'er  all  supreme,  all  perfect  in  thyself ! 

Our  ignorance  is  great,  we  do  not  know 
What  in  thy  sight  is  fit  that  we  should  ask, 
But  trusting  to  thy  wisdom  and  thy  power, 
Most  bounteous  God,  we  humbly  now  presume 


*  These  two  prayers  are  the  only  poems  in  this  selection  in  which  the  sister  of  the 
writer  feels  a  scruple  in  adhering  to  Sir  Andrew  Halliday's  arrangement,  remembering 
as  she  does  the  retiring  delicacy  of  her  departed  brother's  character.  This  scruple,  how- 
ever, is  overcome  by  the  consideration,  that  the  boys  for  whose  benefit  this  collection  is 
principally  intended  may  here  see  that  we  should  not  be  strangers  to  God  in  prosperity, 
if  we  would  have  Him  to  "  know  our  souls  in  adversity."  These  two  prayers,  composed 
just  before  his  marriage,  when  the  world  was  to  him  unclouded,  show  that  He  who  was 
in  after  life  his  "  shelter  from  the  storm,"  was  no  less  at  this  time  his  "  shadow  from  the 
heat." 


26 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


To  kneel  in  prayer  before  thy  glorious  throne. 
O  pour  thy  holy  Spirit  on  our  souls, 
That  we  may  worthily  adore  thy  name, 
And  worship  Thee  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

The  smallest  of  thy  creatures  feels  thy  care, 
The  greatest  own  thy  power,  and  worship  Thee ; 
Thy  will  created  worlds,  and  at  thy  word 
In  fire  and  smoke  they  are  consumed  away; 
Each  little  insect  lives  through  Thee  alone. 
Thou  guidest  every  planet  in  its  wn  course ; 
Thy  Providence  supplies  our  wants  by  day, 
And,  when  we  close  our  weary  eyes  in  sleep, 
Still  Israel's  keeper  watches  o'er  our  heads. 

Father  beneficent !  we  bless  thy  name 
For  life,  for  health,  for  all  that  we  enjoy, 
For  hope  of  heav'n  through  faith  in  Jesus  Christ : 
Thee  grateful  we  adore. — Our  many  sins 
With  penitence  and  sorrow  we  confess ; 
Thy  wrath  is  just,  great  God,  and  none  may  stand 
Before  thy  face  upon  the  judgment  day; 
Corrupt  and  wicked,  we  can  only  cry, 
Good  Lord,  be  merciful  to  sinful  man  ! 
And  Thou  art  merciful,  and  dost  accept 
The  sacrifice  of  Jesus  for  our  sins, 
Who  died  upon  the  cross  that  we  might  live. 
O  wash  out  our  transgressions  in  his  blood ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  27 

And  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord, 
Hear  Thou  our  prayer  for  pardon  and  for  grace; 
And  strengthen  us  against  the  power  of  sin. 
Teach  us  to  love  Thee,  Lord,  with  all  our  souls, 
To  love  our  neighbours  as  we  do  ourselves, 
And  steadfastly  to  keep  thy  holy  law. 
With  humble  gratitude  cause  us  to  use 
The  blessings  that  thy  mercy  doth  bestow. 
With  pious  resignation  may  we  bear 
Each  trial  that  thy  chastening  hand  inflicts. 
In  riches,  poverty,  and  every  snare, 
And  false  allurements  that  the  world  holds  out 
To  make  our  sinful  souls  forget  their  God, 
Support  us  we  beseech  Thee  with  thy  grace. 
Defend  us  through  this  day  from  every  ill ; 
Assist  us  to  perform  with  honest  zeal 
Each  duty  that  our  lot  in  life  requires; 
Guide  Thou  our  hearts  to  follow  what  is  right, 
And  bless  the  work  we  undertake  through  Thee. 

Oh,  hear  our  prayer  for  all  who  dwell  on  earth  ; 
Restrain  the  wicked,  bring  them  back  to  Thee, 
Protect  the  good,  and  prosper  all  good  acts. 
Crown  Thou  their  labours  with  complete  success, 
Who  preach  redemption  for  our  Saviour's  sake, 
That  all  the  world  may  praise  his  holy  name, 
And  seek  the  blessings  which  his  blood  hath  bought. 

d  2 


28 


SELECT    REMAINS    OP 

Great  God !  give  understanding  to  the  king, 
And  all  whom  under  him  we  must  obey, 
That  they  may  act  according  to  thy  law, 
And  rule  the  land  in  holy  fear  of  Thee. 

Oh  listen  to  our  supplication,  Lord  ! 
For  all  our  dear  relations  and  our  friends. 
Lead  Thou  them  in  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Give  them  that  peace  the  world  cannot  give ; 
Grant  of  thy  mercy  that  we  often  meet 
In  happiness  and  love  before  we  die, 
But  if  it  be  thy  high  and  holy  will, 
That  we  no  more  should  see  our  friends  on  earth, 
God,  amidst  grief  give  hope  and  strength  to  say, 
Father,  thy  will  be  done,  for  Thou  art  good ! 

Yet  hearken  to  our  prayer !  our  earnest  prayer ! 
O  'stablish  thou  our  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  ! 
That  we  thy  servants,  through  the  Comforter, 
Proceeding  from  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
May  live  to  Thee,  and  finally  possess 
The  joys  eternal  that  Thou  hast  prepared 
For  those  who  love  thy  law,  and  trust  in  Christ : 
In  whose  most  holy  name  and  words  we  pray, 
Our  Father,  &c,  &c. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE. 


29 


EVENING  PRAYER. 

O  hear  us,  God  of  mercy,  God  of  grace ! 
And  let  thy  holy  Spirit  help  our  prayer, 
Which  with  a  lowly  heart  we  offer  up 
To  Thee,  the  giver  of  all  perfect  gifts. 

We  praise  Thee,  holy  Father,  for  thy  care 
Experienced  by  us  throughout  this  day, 
And  now  when  darkness  closes  round  our  heads 
We  lay  us  down  to  sleep  and  take  our  rest, 
And  unto  Thee  our  God  commend  our  souls, 
For  Thou  redeemest  us,  O  God  of  truth ! 
Protect  us  through  this  night,  Almighty  God, 
And  may  we  wake  refreshed  from  our  sleep, 
To  praise  thee,  Lord,  and  glorify  thy  name  ; 
Extend  thy  saving  grace  to  all  mankind, 
And  bless  the  work  of  those  who  preach  thy  word, 
And  labour  to  increase  the  flock  of  Christ. 

Especially  we  pray  for  all  our  friends, 
And  relatives,  and  brethren  in  the  Lord ; 
Inspire  our  hearts  with  gratitude  and  love 
For  all  the  mercies  that  Thou  dost  bestow, 
And  chiefly  for  the  knowledge  of  thy  Son, 
The  blessed  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
O  'stablish  Thou  our  faith  and  hope  in  him, 


30  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

That  we  may  be  through  his  atoning  blood 

Redeemed  and  purified  from  all  our  sins, 

And  through  the  Comforter,  whom  He  doth  send, 

May  we  be  guided  in  the  way  of  truth, 

Abide  in  Christ,  and  keep  thy  holy  word. 

Make  all  our  actions,  all  our  words  and  thoughts, 

Acceptable  to  Thee,  our  God  and  Lord, 

And  when  it  pleaseth  Thee  to  call  us  hence, 

May  we  through  Christ  receive  eternal  life, 

And  with  the  Saints  for  ever  praise  thy  name. 

Amen  ! 


During  the  same  month  that  he  composed  these  solemn 
addresses  to  his  Maker  which  have  just  been  recorded,  he  also 
wrote  the  following  beautiful  Song,  to  the  tune  of  "  Auld 
Robin  Gray." 


SONG,   Written  July,   1828. 

When  the  bright  blue  lightnings  flash, 
And  the  wild  winds  round  me  rave, 

And  the  groaning  mast  goes  crash, 
And  the  wreck  rides  on  the  wave : 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  31 

When  nought  but  gloom  I  see, 

Then,  bonny  lassy,  say, 
Will  ye  pray  a  prayer  for  me, 

Wandering  far  away. 

When  the  summer's  sun  is  set 

On  the  woodland  down  the  gait, 
And  the  mavis  on  the  hazel 

Sings  merry  to  its  mate : 
Forlorn  by  its  lane, 

Gin  ye  see  a  herried  dow, 
Oh  think  for  ance  o1  ane 

That  maun  aye  think  o1  you. 

How  sweet,  but  oh,  how  vain, 

To  think  that  a"  for  me, 
You  would  leave  your  bonny  hame : 

But,  love,  the  thought  forgie, 
Oh  !  wae,  wae's  my  heart, 

To  leave  the  land  I  loe, 
But  break  it  maun  to  part, 

Sweet  lassy,  frae  you. 

Listen  to  me,  love, 

Oh  say  yell  gang  wi'  me, 
Or  heartless  I  maun  rove, 

And  bless  the  day  I  dee. 


32  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

I  had  little  I  could  gie 

But  a  warm  heart  and  true, 

That  heart  yeVe  stown  frae  me, 
It  maun  aye  bide  wi1  you. 

The  world  speak  o1  wealth, 

But  what  can  siller  gie? 
Can  it  win  me  back  my  heart, 

That  yeVe  twined  awa  frae  me. 
Oh,  ae  look  o'  love, 

In  my  bonny  lassy's  ee, 
Were  worthy^1  the  wealth 

O1  the  world  to  me. 


Having  made  a  drawing  of  Mount  Annan,  the  seat  of 
General  Dirom,  and  the  home  of  his  beloved,  he  wrote  under 
it,  in  her  scrap  book,  the  following  : — 

LINES, 

WRITTEN    BELOW    A    DRAWING    OF    MOUNT    ANNAN. 

Heard  ye  that  breeze?  oh,  its  music  is  dear 
As  the  song  of  a  mother  to  infancy's  ear; 
It  whispered,  as  lightly  it  blew  through  the  glen, 
Rest,  wanderer !  welcome  to  Annan  again. 


JOHN    ALEXANDEB    PRINGLE.  33 

It  kissed  the  green  woodland,  it  toy'd  with  the  trees, 
The  dark  foliage  rustled  as  rock'd  by  the  breeze ; 
And  oh,  I  could  fancy  it  join'd  in  the  strain, — 
Rest,  wanderer,  welcome  to  Annan  again. 

Like  a  smile  on  the  cheek  of  an  infant  asleep, 
It  play'd  on  the  Annan  and  dimpled  the  deep, 
And  each  wimpling  wave,  as  it  roll'd  to  the  main, 
Sang,  Wanderer,  welcome  to  Annan  again. 

There's  a  breeze  that  I  love, — o'er  Mount  Annan  it  blows; 
There's  a  water  I  love, — in  the  Annan  it  flows ; 
There's  one  thought  that  can  soothe  a  worn  wanderer's  pain, — 
Tis  the  hope  that  Fll  see  thee,  dear  Annan,  again. 

J.  A.  P. 


1829. 


This  year  I  have  only  found  the  following-  lines,  written  off 
the  Land's  End  on  the  23rd  of  July,  on  his  way  to  India  with 
his  young  wife. 

"Thy  last  land,  my  country,"  fades  from  my  sight, 
Thy  mountains  have  set  in  the  shadow  of  night ; 
Swift  sails  our  vessel  upon  the  blue  sea, 
And  day  will  dawn  on  us  far  distant  from  thee. 

E 


SELECT    REMAINS   OF 

O  !  the  lands  where  we  wander  have  mountains  as  light. 

And  the  sun  of  the  East  shines  on  valleys  as  bright, 

But  we  miss  in  those  valleys,  though  lovely  they  be, 

Those  spells  so  enchanting  which  bind  us  to  thee. 

Fond  fancy  can  trace  in  thy  heathery  hill 

Those  footsteps  so  dear  to  our  memory  still, 

And  oft  o'er  those  mountains  we  hear  on  the  blast 

The  voices  we  loved  in  the  days  that  are  past, 

And  the  visions  of  those  that  are  far  far  away 

Seem  still  by  the  murmuring  waters  to  stray, 

And  fond  recollections,  wherever  we  rove, 

Can  fill  thy  lone  glens  with  the  forms  that  we  love. 

J.  A.   P. 

The  following  appear  to  have  been  written  in  Mrs.  Pringle's 
scrap  book  either  during  the  voyage  or  very  soon  after  their 
arrival  at  Jessore. 

INDIA:  AN  ODE. 

Sixteen  thousand  miles  of  sea 

Lead  us  to  our  destiny, 

To  the  land  of  golden  dreams, 

Washed  by  weighty  Ganga's  streams. 

Land  of  tigers  and  of  apes, 

Land  of  monsters  of  all  shapes, 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PKINGLE.  36 

Land  of  crows,  and  kites,  and  frogs, 

Land  of  pups  and  pariah  dogs, 

Land  of  cats,  and  rats,  and  mice, 

Land  of  curry  and  of  rice, 

Land  of  lawyers  without  wigs, 

Land  of  political  intrigues, 

Land  of  riches  and  distress, 

Land  of  hovels — palaces  ! 

Land  of  ladies  and  of  dancing, 

Land  of  singular  financing, 

Land  of  browns,  and  blacks,  and  whites 

All  deprived  of  their  just  rights, 

Land  of  disappointment,  where 

All  the  ills  of  life  we  share, 

Where  the  people  called  elect 

Milk,  and  wine,  and  oil  expect, 

Where  another  class  doth  find 

Misery  and  want  combined; 

While  others,  should  they  chance  to  live, 

Take  such  things  as  chance  may  give. 

But  suppose  we  put  in  rhyme 

All  the  blessings  of  the  clime, 

Thunder,  lightning,  storms,  and  rains, 

Cholera,  rheumatic  pains, 

Head-ach,  heart-ach,  stomach-ach, 

All  disorders  man  can  take, 

E    2 


36  SELECT    REMAINS    OK 

Doctors  recipes  and  pills, 

Horror  at  our  monthly  bills, 

Burning  sun  and  scorching  winds, 

Bungolows  with  close-shut  blinds. 

Breath  exhausted,  heat  oppressive, 

Liver  twinges — most  expressive, 

Hope  deferred  our  hearts  to  blight, 

Injuries  we  dare  not  right, 

Damp  that  blots,  and  spoils,  and  stains, 

Nora's  book  for  all  my  pains, 

Such  is  India — such  its  plan, 

Oh,  who  would  live  in  Hindoostan  I 


THE  DREAM  OF  CALDERWOOD. 

Sweet  vision  of  life's  morning  stay, 
Let  fitful  fancy  have  her  way, 
While  back  to  Calderwood  I  stray 

Through  glade  and  glen  so  green. 

Scene  to  happy  childhood  dear, 
Friends  whose  smile  that  scene  could  cheer, 
Sleep's  witching  wand  will  waft  you  near, 
Though  oceans  roll  between. 


JOHX    ALEXANDER    PRIXGLE. 


From  yonder  cliffs,  see,  Calder  throws 
His  foaming  flood,  now  gently  flows 
Where  hawthorn  sweet,  with  many  a  rose, 
Hung  round  the  rock  is  seen. 

Bright  thoughts  of  happy  moments  past 
Like  sunbeams  fall — they  fade  as  fast ! 
Yet  o'er  the  gloom  a  ray  they  cast, 
To  light  life's  dreary  dream. 

Still  may  they  beam  on  yon  gray  towers, 
Where  careless  fled  my  early  hours; 
Still  seek  the  tangled  woodbine  bowers, 
By  Calders  wimpling  stream. 

Stay,  lovely  vision,  yet  a  while, 
The  wanderer's  weary  heart  beguile, 
And,  for  a  moment,  try  to  wile 

It  back  to  what  has  been  ! 


J.  A.  Pringle. 


•S<S  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


Mrs.  Pringle  had  taken  with  her  a  book,  or  album,  which 
she  promised  to  fill  with  drawings  and  poems  for  her  sister, 
Miss  Dirom;  on  the  first  page  of  this  book,  Mr.  Pringle,  as  a 
preface,  writes : — 

Nora,  dear  sister,  say,  is  it  not  sweet, 

When  distant  so  far,  that  our  spirits  may  meet, 

While  in  fancy  we  ramble,  each  hour  of  the  day, 

To  the  haunts  that  we  love,  with  our  friends  far  away ! 

Oh,  it's  sad,  but  it's  sweet,  to  picture  the  scene, 

Where  last  in  our  land  we  together  have  been  : 

Till  faces  we  love,  in  our  fancy,  arise, 

And  their  smiles  and  their  looks  seem  to  gladden  our  eyes. 

Too  sweet  is  the  dream, — we  awake,  and  it  flies, 

In  the  roar  of  the  waters  around  us  it  dies ; 

Yet  still,  while  we  wander  and  rock  on  the  sea. 

The  moments  fly  fast  when  devoted  to  thee. 

And  with  pens  and  with  scrap  books  we  chase  away  time, 

Transcribing  a  poem,  or  writing  a  rhyme, 

While  our  pencils  would  waft  you,  in  fancy  at  least. 

To  the  loveliest  scenes  that  we  see  in  the  East. 

Our  rhyme  may  be  doggrcl,  and  wretched  to  read. 

We  would  give  you  our  best — take  the  will  for  the  deed. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PR1NGLE.  39 

If*  faults  in  perspective  you  chance  to  detect, 
We  did  not  intend  them,  in  mercy  correct — 
Yes,  kind  is  the  critic,  her  heart's  on  our  side, 
And  the  failings  she  finds,  her  affection  will  hide. 


1880. 

The  following  was  written  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Pringle 
detailing  to  him  the  incidents  of  a  dream  she  had  soon  after 
the  news  of  her  brother's  death  had  reached  Jessore ;  and 
when,  as  is'said  by  his  sister,  "she  knew  her  first  sorrow,'" — 
at  least  snch  is  believed  to  have  been  the  origin  of  it. 


A  DREAM. 

"  Brother  !  thou  art  come  from  the  land  of  the  blest, 
Thou  art  come  from  the  place  of  thy  spirit's  rest, 
Thou  art  come,  thou  art  come,  dear  brother,  for  me 

0  give  me  thy  wings  and  I  too  shall  be  free ! ,1 

"  I  have  wandered,    indeed,  an  angel  guest, 
To  earth — from  the  land  of  the  spirit's  rest, 

1  am  come,  dear  sister,  but  not  for  thee, 
For  thine  still  is  the  chain  of  mortality.'11 


40  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

"  How  radiant  thy  hair  with  its  glossy  hue, 
How  bright  beams  thine  eye  of  heaven's  own  blue ! 
And  it  looks  as  if  never  a  tear-drop  laid 
Upon  the  soft  fringe  of  its  silken  shade." 

• 

"  Sister,  I've  been  beyond  that  bright  sky, 
Where  no  tear  is  shed — where  is  heard  no  sigh: 
No!  these  belong  to  the  mortal  ^ou4'    CQIl 
To  earth,  and  her  children  of  care  and  toil.'" 

"  Ah  !    why  did  thy  lingering  spirit  not  wait  I 

At  the  portal  of  heaven,  at  its  golden  gate, 

I  have  wept,  I  have  watched,  I  have  waited  for  thee  ; 

Then  give  me  thy  wings,  let  me  soar  and  be  free." 

"I  may  not,   I  may  not;  for  stronger  the  wing, 
On  which  thy  freed  spirit  hereafter  shall  spring ; 
On  the  pinion  of  faith,  it  shall  purified  soar, 
The  ransomed  of  earth — and  her  pilgrim  no  more.1' 

Jessore,  1830. 


1  have  met  with  nothing-  more  beautiful  than  the  following 
lines  addressed  to  Mrs.  Pringle  on  the  second  anniversary  of 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  41 

their  marriage-day.     It  was  folded  as  a  note,  and  evident]) 
was  sent  to  her  early,  as  the  P.S.  would  indicate. 

Hand  in  hand  together  kneeling,  dearest  say,  is  it  not  sweet, 
One  in  heart,  and  one  in  feeling,  to  approach  the  mercy  seat  ? 
Humbly  there  our  sins  confessing,  shrinking  from  the  lowest  place, 
Yet,  prizing  higher  every  blessing,  since  we  owe  them  all  to  grace. 
And,  under  Heaven,  w-here's  the  blessing,  sweetest  still  where  all  are 

sweet  ? 
'Tis  the  comfort  of  possessing  one  fond  heart  my  heart  to  meet. 
Love  !  I  know  that  heart  is  beating  in  thy  breast  for  me  alone ; 
With  joy  the  day's  return  now  greeting,  that  sunny  clay  which  made  us  one. 
Since  first  I  saw,  since  first  I  sought  thee,  thrice  I've  seen  these  happy 

days, 
And  each  returning  season  brought  me  causes  deep  for  humble  praise. 
First,  by  joyful  friends  attended,  before  our  Maker,  side  by  side, 
Our  solemn  vows  to  God  ascended,  and  I  clasped  my  lovely  bride ! 
Next  returning  season  found  us  far  from  all  we  thought  our  home, 
Nought  but  wild  waves  rolling  round  us,  call'd  to  distant  lands  to  roam. 
Though  other  friends  no  more  enfold  thee,  thy  heart  still  found  a  home  in 

mine ; 
And  that  dark  sparkling  eye  still  told  me,  Love,  I  had  my  home  in  thine ! 
Now  we  dwell  with  heathen  round  us,  sunk  in  darkness,  sin,  and  shame; 
That  the  Gospel  light  hath  found  us,  let  us  praise  his  holy  Name ! 
And,  taught  of  God  the  way  to  heaven,  still  pray  for  grace  to  understand, 
Of  those,  to  whom  He  much  has  given,  much  He  also  will  demand. — 

F 


42  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Though  one  shade  the  scene  hath  clouded,  since  this  day  we  welcomed  last. 

Though  a  brother's  death  hath  shrouded  many  a  dream  of  pleasure  past ; 

From  Religion  comfort  gather,  let  her  beam  the  gloom  dispel, 

May  our  chastened  hearts  say,  Father!   Thou  hast  ordered  all  things  well! 

Thus  upon  our  Lord  relying,  peace  shall  light  our  prospect  here ; 

Christian  hope  shall  soothe  our  sighing,  Christ  will  dry  the  mourner's  tear. 

Dearest !  may  His  mercy  shield  thee, — prosper  thee  in  all  thy  ways, 

And  each  returning  season  yield  thee  reason  new  His  name  to  praise  ! 

Jessore,  Friday,  J.  A.  Pbingle. 

1  Oth  September,  ]  830. 

My  pretty  puss  must  let  me  play  poet  laureate  on  this  fine  day,  for 
I  am  in  a  very  rhyming,  very  happy  humour, — Ci,  CI. 


The  following,  entitled  "  Our  little  Station  Church,"  bears 
an  earlier  date,  and  is  also  beautiful. 

OUR  LITTLE  STATION  CHURCH. 

Ezekiel  xr.  16*. 

The  Sabbath  bell  we  may  not  hear ', — 
No  gorgeous  gothic  fane  be  near, — 
And  two  or  three  may  scarcely  meet 
To  kneel  before  the  mercy  seat : 

1  Lam.  i.  4 — 7. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLEc  43 

The  idol-altars  round  may  stand  * , — 
This  world's  spirit  may  fill  the  land, 
While  scatter'd,  few  and  far  between, 
The  followers  of  Christ  are  seen3. 

Yet,  still,  the  Lofty  One  and  High4, 
Who  dwelleth  in  Eternity, 
The  contrite  spirit's  prayer  will  hear, 
And  deign  the  lowly  soul  to  cheer. 
From  breathings  of  a  broken  heart, 
Thy  mercy,  Lord,   will  not  depart 5 : 
To  mark  the  humbled  sinner's  sigh, 
The  Holy  One  is  ever  nigh. 

And  will  He  not  descend  to  bless 
His  temple  in  the  wilderness6? 
To  hear  our  feeble  voices  raise, 
With  heart  sincere,  our  prayer  and  praise? 
Come  boldly  then  without  the  camp7, 
Let  ways,  not  words,  profession  stamp, 
And,  grateful,  glory  in  his  Name8, 
Who  died  for  us,  despising  shame9. 


2  Psalm  iii.'2.  3  Ibid,  lxxiv.  4  Isaiah  lvii.  15 — 18. 

5  Psalm  xxxiv.  18.  6  Ibid,  lxiii.;  xc.  17. 

7  Heb  xiii.  13 ;  Matt.  vii.  21—27.  8  Rom.  v.  1—10. 

9  Heb.  ii.  9—18. 

F  2 


44 


SELECT    REMAINS   OF 


Come,  let  us  join  to  praise  the  Lord10, — 
Come,  let  us  read  his  holy  Word, 
And  pray  for  grace  to  understand, 
And  strength  to  keep  each  high  command. 
Lord  !   when  before  Thee  we  appear, 
Hear  Thou"!     In  heaven  thy  dwelling,  hear! 
And,  while  Thou  hearest,  O  forgive12 ! 
And,  in  thy  favour,  bid  us  live ! 
Jessore,  April,  1830.  J.  A.  Pringle. 


In  a  small  paper  book,  which  is  inscribed  the  Jaw-Hole. 
and  in  which  several  of  his  verses  are  inscribed,  he  has  chosen 
as  his  motto  the  following-  lines  from  Virgil,  Georg.  iv. 

Ipse  Cave  solans  aegrum  testudine  amorem, 
Te,  dulcis  Conjux — Te  solo  in  littore  secum, 
Te  veniente  die,  Te  decedente  canebat. 

All  lonely  on  the  shore  forlorn  he  strays, 

Breathing  his  woes  to  broken-hearted  lays ; 

For  Thee,  sweet  Love  !  for  Thee  the  lyre  he  strings, 

Of  Thee  from  dawn  to  dusk,  from  dusk  to  dawn  he  sings. 


10  Psalm  xcv.  ;  c.  "I  Kings  viii.  28—30,  57—60. 

12  Psahn  xxx.  ."» 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  4-r> 

And  indeed  this  may  be  taken  as  the  burthen  of  every  line  he 
wrote  from  the  death  of  his  beloved  Christina. 


The  following-  are  all  beautiful,  and  display  the  feelings  of 
his  bereaved  heart,  after  he  had  laid  in  the  "  cold  grave," 
her  in  whom  all  his  earthly  happiness  had  been  centred.  1 
have  numbered  them  according  to  their  apparent  dates. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  COMFORT. 

Mark  xvi.  1—3;     Matt,  xxviii.  2 — 4;    Mark  xvi.  4,  5; 
Matt,  xxviii.  5 — 7 ;  and  Luke  xxiv.  5 — 7. 

With  heavy  heart  and  throbbing  breast, 
She  sought  the  tomb  at  dawn  of  day, 

t 

Where  they  had  laid  her  Lord  to  rest, — 

But,  who  shall  roll  the  stone  away  ? 
Oh  who  is  He  who  may  remove 

The  barrier  rock  that  lies  between 
The  mourner  and  the  Saviour's  love, 
When  hope  hath  fled, 
And  grief  hath  shed 
Despair  and  darkness  on  the  scene  ! 


4fi  SELECT    REMAIN'S    OF 

See,  the  solid  earth  doth  shake — 

The  angel  of  the  Lord  appears  ! 
The  rock  is  rent — the  keepers  quake  ! 

Christian  mourner  calm  thy  fears. — 
He  lives — the  first-fruits  of  the  tomb  ! 

Come,  see  the  place  where  He  was  laid. 
Let  his  own  promise  chase  thy  gloom, 
This  is  the  day, 
Oh  haste  away  ! 

Why  seek  ye  the  living  with  the  dead  ? 

A  light  hath  shone  upon  the  grave, 

And  Jesus  lives  !     He  is  not  here  ! 
And  He,  who  died,  thy  soul  to  save, 

Revives,  the  mourner's  heart  to  cheer. 
So  spake  the  messenger  of  God, 

While,  awe  struck,  Mary  bow'd  her  head 
Thy  Lord  hath  left  death's  dark  abode, 
The  heavenly  way 
He  leads  to-day; 

Why  seek  ye  the  living  with  the  dead  I 

So  speaks  He  still  to  Christian  faith, 
While  all  life's  loveliest  blossoms  fade. 

Yes,  even  at  the  tomb,  He  saith, 
Seek  not  the  living  with  the  dead. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE. 

The  soul,  that  flash'd  with  love  and  light, 
Beneath  that  dark  eye's  deepest  shade, 
To  heaven  hath  \ving\l  its  joyous  flight, 
In  seraph  lays, 
The  Lamb  to  praise  ; 
Why  seek  ye  the  living  with  the  dead  I 

Oh,  peaceful  is  the  slumber  deep 

Of  those  we  lovM  to  look  upon  ; 
They  rest  from  care,  in  gentle  sleep, 

Who  trusted  in  the  Lord  alone ; 
Their  spirits,  to  the  Saviour's  fold, 

The  Shepherd  of  their  souls  hath  led ; 

Look  up,  each  glorious  guest  behold  ! 

Praise  God  on  high  ! 
Tney  j°yful  cry; 

Why  seek  ye  the  living  with  the  dead  ? 

But  joys  more  perfect  still  remain 

For  all  who,  faithful,  keep  the  word  ; 
Immortal  friends  shall  meet  again, 

And  be  for  ever  with  the  Lord. 
When  they  that  sleep  in  Jesus  wake, 

To  dwell  with  Christ  our  risen  Head  : 
Then,  mourning  Christian,  comfort  take, 
Wait,  watch,  and  pray, 
Unto  the  day 

Of  Him  who  liveth  and  was  dead. 


J.  A.  Pringle. 


48  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


II. 


Jon  xxiii.  8,  9,  10. — Behold  I  go  forward,  but  He  is  not  there  ;  and  backward,  but  I  can- 
not perceive  Him  :  On  the  left  hand,  where  He  doth  work,  but  I  cannot  behold 
Him ;  He  hideth  himself  on  the  right  hand,  that  I  cannot  see  Him.  But  He 
knoweth  the  way  that  I  take  :  when  He  hath  tried  me,  I  shall  come  forth  as 
gold. 


Forward  I  look,  but  look  in  vain, 
My  God  I  cannot  see ; 

Backward  I  turn,  I  look  again, 
But  He  is  lost  to  me. 

Above — beneath — on  every  side, 

His  awful  power  is  shown, 
But  still  from  me  dark  shadows  hide 

His  mercy's  radiant  throne. 
Yet  all  my  ways  are  known  to  Thee, 

Thou  dost  my  heart  behold ; 
O  grant,  when  Thou  hast  proved  me, 

I  may  come  forth  as  gold  ! 

With  patience  may  I  seek  thy  face, 

Resigned  to  thy  will ; 
And  though  thy  path  I  cannot  trace, 

O,  let  me  trust  Thee  still ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  49 

So  may  I  have  that  peace  divine, 

This  world  can  never  give : 
The  peace  thou  leavest  Lord  with  thine, 

To  know  thy  love  and  live. 


J.  A.  P. 


Calcutta,  November,  1830. 


III. 


Job  xxx.  31. — My  harp  also  is.  turned  to  mourning,  and  my  organ  into  the  voice  of 

them  that  weep. 


A  wanderer  in  a  dreary  land, 
Alone  in  careless  crowds  I  stand  : 
In  sleepless  nights  and  pain  by  day, 
I  plod  through  life  my  weary  way. 
The  joys  of  time  all  sunk  in  gloom — 
The  brightest  buried  in  the  tomb. 
Great  God,  who  rulest  all,  be  nigh ; 
O  listen  to  the  mourner's  sigh  ! 

Bow'd  low  in  dust  beneath  thy  frown, 
Lord,  make  me  feel  the  sins  I  own  ; 
Yet,  hear  in  mercy  while  I  pray, 
And  cast  me  not  from  grace  away. 


50  SELECT    REMAINS    OP 

Though  clouds  and  darkness  round  Thee  dwell. 
Though  o'er  me  all  thy  billows  swell, 
Yet,  from  the  deep  to  Thee  I  cry, 
0  listen  to  the  mourner's  sigh  ! 

Lord,  who  hast  died  that  man  might  live, 
My  Saviour,  all  my  sins  forgive. 
O  shed  thy  Holy  Spirit's  ray 
Of  comfort  round  the  pilgrim's  way  ! 
With  faith  and  love  my  bosom  fill, 
And  meek  submission  to  thy  will ; 
Thus,  Lord,  the  tear  of  sorrow  dry, 
So  soothe  thy  mourning  servant's  sigh  ! 

J.  A.  Pkingjue. 

Calcutta,  November,  1830. 


IV. 

In  sorrow's  dark  moments, 

When  no  one  is  near, 
Thy  form  is  before  me, — 

I  fancv  thee  near ! 
But  thy  place,  Love,  is  empty, 

These  day-dreams — how  vain  ! 
Thou  art  gone, — and  I  never 

May  see  thee  again  ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  .">  I 

Still  there's  comfort  for  sorrow 

In  the  place  where  I  flee. 
Receive  me,  my  Saviour, 

I  cling  unto  Thee. 
Be  thou  with  my  spirit, 

While  wandering  alone ; 
And  the  heart,  Thou  hast  broken, 

Lord,  make  it  thine  own ! 

J.  A.  Pringle. 


Calcutta,  December ■,  1830. 


V. 


My  eye's  desire  ! — My  blooming  lovely  one  ! 

Sweet  partner  of  my  bosom's  joys  and  woes  ; 
The  weary  wanderer's  comfort,  and  his  only  one, 

Droops  low  in  death ;  and  faded  is  my  rose. 

Ye  cannot  feel,  by  every  friend  surrounded, 
Who  ne'er  are  destined  through  the  world  to  roam, 

The  desolation  of  a  heart  thus  wounded, 
Bereft  of  her  whose  breast  was  all  his  home. 

Far  through  this  vale  of  tears  dark  shades  are  glooming, 
Where  once  to  me  the  wilderness  look'd  fair, 

Where  once  each  way  I  turn'd  life's  flowers  were  blooming, 
But  then  my  sweet  one  wander'd  with  me  there. 

g  2 


52  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Yet  stay  ! — Is  that  a  star,  that,  softly  shining, 

Beyond  the  gloomy  vista  sheds  its  ray, 
To  chide  the  lonely  wanderer's  repining, 

And  guide  his  steps  to  everlasting  day  ? 

Bright  star  of  Bethlehem,  that  led  the  stranger 
To  where  the  Prince  of  Peace  and  Glory  lay, 

Poor  for  my  sake,  and  cradled  in  a  manger, 
Thine  is  the  light — thine  the  reviving  ray! 

Oh,  leave  me  not  in  night  that  knows  no  morrow, 

Within  the  darkness  of  despair  to  stray  ! 
Shine  on,  shine  on !  where,  low  and  bow'd  with  sorrow. 

For  Faith  to  heal  a  broken  heart  I  pray. 

To  Thee  I  pray,  who  dried  the  eye  still  weeping, 
And  soothed  the  mourner's  spirit  with  thy  word.: 

"  Weep  not  for  her,  she  is  not  dead  but  sleeping." 
Be  Thou  my  strength,  my  consolation,  Lord  ! 

May  I  be  led  by  Thee  to  seek  thy  glory, 
And,  with  a  chasten'd  heart  and  spirit  poor, 

Strive,  in  the  path  of  life  that  lies  before  me, 
To  make  my  calling  and  election  sure  : 

And,  when  I  sleep  with  her  whom  Thou  hast  taken, 

In  thine  own  day,  our  slumbering  bodies  raise  : 
Then  to  eternal  joy  may  we  awaken, 

And  hymn,  in  heaven,  our  great  Redeemer's  praise. 
Barruckpore,  Christmas,  1830.  J.  A.  Prutole. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  53 


VI. 


THE  PATRIARCH'S  PROSPECTS. 

Job  xiv.  1 — 10. — For  there  is  hope  of  a  tree,  if  it  be  cut  down,  that  it  will  sprout  again, 
and  that  the  tender  branch  thereof  will  not  cease.  Though  the  root  thereof  wax 
old  in  the  earth,  and  the  stock  die  in  the  ground ;  Yet  at  the  scent  of  water 
it  will  bud  and  bring  forth  boughs  like  a  plant.  But  man  dietli  and  wasteth 
away;  yea,  he  giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he  ? 

Job  vii.  8 — 10. — The  eye  of  liim  that  hath  seen  me  shall  see  me  no  more.  Thine  eyes  are 
upon  me,  and  I  am  not.  As  the  cloud  is  consumed  and  vanisheth  away;  so  lie 
that  goeth  down  to  the  grave  shall  come  up  no  more.  He  shall  return  no 
more  to  his  house ;  neither  shall  his  place  kuow  him  any  more ! 

Job  xiv.  II,  12. — As  the  waters  fail  from  the  sea,  and  the  flood  decayeth  and  drieth  up: 
So  man  lieth  down  and  riseth  not ;  till  the  heavens  be  no  more,  they  shall 
not  awake,  nor  be  raised  out  of  their  sleep. 

With  mist  and  with  gloom  the  pale  landscape  is  clouded, 
The  deep  drifted  snow  hill  and  valley  hath  shrouded, 
Lifeless  and  bare  the  gray  branches  are  waving, 
Where  winter's  wild  storm  through  the  forest  is  raving. 
Yet,  the  soft  breath  of  spring  the  young  foliage  will  nourish, 
Again,  in  each  glen,  the  gay  blossom  will  flourish, 
And  the  moorland  will  bloom  with  the  sweet  blushing  heather, 
When  summer  again  brings  the  sun-shiny  weather. 

Not  so  with  the  breast  where  life's  latest  sigh  lingers, — 
With  the  pale  faded  cheek  touched  by  Death's  icy  fingers ; 
Oh,  Death's  chilling  blast  every  prospect  doth  wither  ! 
Thou  art  gone  !    Thou  art  gone  ! — But  who  shall  say  whither  ? 


5+  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Affection's  embrace  may  no  longer  enfold  thee, 
Affection's  fond  gaze  never  more  shall  behold  thee, 
And  thy  dear  happy  home,  and  its  glen,  and  its  river, 
Will  smile — but  on  others — as  lovely  as  ever  ! 

Thou  wert  light  as  the  cloud  that  at  sunset  is  glowing, 
Thou  wert  bright  as  the  rill  down  the  green  valley  flowing ; 
But  the  blush  of  the  evening  is  melted  in  shadow, 
And  lost  in  the  deep  is  the  rill  of  the  meadow  ! 
Thine  eye  too  is  dim,  and  Death's  shadows  surround  thee, 
His  spell  in  its  still,  stony  slumber  hath  bound  thee, 
In  the  sleep  of  the  dead  the  cold  grave  doth  enfold  thee, 
And  the  heavens  must  fade  «-'er  again  we  behold  thee  ! 
Winter,  1830.  J.  A.  Pringle. 


The  last  poem  I  shall  insert  of  this  year  is  written  on  the 
last  page  of  the  unfinished  Scrap  Book,  of  which  the  preface 
has  already  been  given,  and  which  Mrs.  Pringle  had  taken 
meat  delight  in  preparing  for  her  sister  Nora. 

JFil\i&f  The  volume  has  come  to  an  end. 
^FiltiS,  We  weep  o'er  the  grave  of  a  friend  ; 
And  memory  sighs  as  she  fondly  retains 
Each  relic  of  love  that  among  us  remains ; 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  55 

And  this  labour  of  love  that  she  wrought  while  alive, 
Will  be  dear  to  the  bosoms  of  those  who  survive. 
If  a  page  be  found  spotless,  oh  let  it  remain 
Unsullied  and  pure,  as  her  heart  without  stain. 
If  a  page  be  found  empty,  oh  still  let  it  rest 
As  a  sign  of  the  blank  that  is  left  in  my  breast. 
She  sleeps !     My  beloved  !     No  more  may  I  hear 
The  sound  of  her  voice  that  fell  soft  on  my  ear ; 
And  closed  is  that  eye  once  in  joy  beaming  sweet, 
And  her  heart  full  of  love — does  it  no  longer  beat  ? 
She  sleeps !     My  beloved  !     Oh  bitter  the  tear 
That  is  wrung  from  my  bosom  and  drops  on  her  bier. 
Joy  dwelt  with  me  once ;  with  her  spirit  it  fled, 
And  for  ever  is  lost  in  the  grave  of  the  dead. 
For  ever  ? — Oh  no  !     Let  us  trust  she  has  gone 
To  the  mansions  of  heaven  where  grief  is  unknown. 
For  ever  ? — Oh  no  !     Let  us  turn  from  the  grave, 
And  come  to  our  Father  who  wounds  but  to  save. 
Let  us  listen  to  Him  who  hath  said  in  his  Word, 
That  He  blesses  their  slumber  who  sleep  in  the  Lord; 
Tho'  sinking  in  sorrow,  come  earnestly  pray 
For  strength  in  our  labours,  while  yet  it  is  day. 
May  that  comforting  Spirit  our  Saviour  doth  send, 
Still  dwell  in  the  heart  of  each  sorrowing  friend ; 
For  a  soul  that  is  contrite  and  kisses  the  rod, 
And  a  heart  that  is  broken,  is  dear  to  our  God. 
Calcutta,  25tk  November,  1830.  J.   A.  P. 


SELECT    REMAIN'S    OF 


The   following  beautiful  lines  betray  his  feelings  at  the 
opening  of  another  year,  and  when  "  lone  was  his  dwelling, 


Lone  is  my  dwelling  now, 

Gloomy,  dark,  and  dreary; 
Love's  voice  hath  ceased  to  flow — 

I  wander  woe  and  weary. 
Hark  !   a  sound — I  look  around — 

'Twas  but  the  cypress  sighing; 
Or  echoing  walls  of  empty  halls 

To  my  own  voice  replying: 
For  lone  is  my  dwelling  now, 

Dark  its  hall  and  dreary ; 
Love's  voice  hath  ceased  to  flow — 

Where  I  sit  woe  and  weary ! 
The  eye  so  bright,  that  chased  to  flight 

Each  care  that  could  oppress  me, — 
0  !  quenched  its  light  in  death's  cold  night, 

No  more  its  beam  may  bless  me ; 
But  dark  is  my  dwelling  now, 

Gloomy,  dull,  and  dreary ; 
Love's  light  hath  ceased  to  glow — 

She's  left  me  woe  and  weary  ! 
And  cold  as  lead,  and  dull  and  dead, 

This  heavy  heart  lies  sleeping, 
And  burning  day,  this  tearless  eye 

The  night  long  watch  is  keeping; 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  57 


For  lone  is  my  dwelling  now, 
Dark  its  hall  and  dreary; 

Love's  light  hath  ceased  to  Sow- 
Worn  am  I  and  weary. 


J.  A.  P. 


Champapoka  Palace,  Moorshedabad, 
IZth  January,  1831. 


The  sun  will  shine  as  bright  above 

In  other  days, — 
The  moon,  we  used  to  look  on,  love, 

Still  wins  my  gaze ; 
The  flowers,  that  shared  thy  gentle  care, 

May  still  bloom  on, — 
Thy  bird  pour  forth  his  song but  where 

Wilt  thou  be  gone  I 

"Tis  all  too  true — that  faded  cheek — 

That  sunken  eye ! 
Those  accents  tremulous  and  weak, — 

That  tear — that  sigh  ! — 
With  idle  hope  Fve  watchM  thy  brow 

From  day  to  day: 
Tis  vain a  little  while and  thou 

Wilt  pass  away ! 

H 


•58  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

The  same  strain  is  continued  on  his  birth-day  this  year. 

On  the  brink  of  Time  I  stand, 

Mourning  alone; 
I  sigh  for  that  happy  land 

Where  care  is  unknown. 
Soon,  soon,  love !    with  thee, 
To  join  in  Heaven's  minstrelsy, 
While  golden  harps  melodiously 

Sound  around  the  Throne. 

Time  and  toil  will  soon  be  past, 

The  weary  one  will  sleep, 
The  night  of  death  will  come  at  last, 

The  slumber,  long  and  deep. 
Soon,  soon  !    this  spirit  free, 
Fleeting  to  eternity, 
Dearest !    yet  may  smile  with  thee, 

Ne'er  again  to  weep. 

\7th  April,  1831. 


J.  A.  Pringle. 


Another  beautiful  ode  this  year  is  : — 

SUNSET. 

Soft  is  the  beam  o1  the  sun  in  the  West, 
When  his  daylight  is  done,  and  he  sinks  to  his  rest : — 
Though  he  leave  us  in  night,  yet,  o'er  the  dark  sea, 
His  path  lies  in  light  to  my  ain  countrie. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  59 

So, — chastenM,  but  bright  was  her  last  look  o"*  faith, 
Ere  she  sunk  from  my  sight  in  the  darkness  o1  death, — 
But  is  she  no  gane  where  nae  darkness  can  be, 
Where  hope  has  her  hame  in  a  fair  countrie  ? 

There's  a  rest  for  the  wearied — the  cauld  sleepy  bed, 
Nae  wish  can  come  near  it  to  waken  the  dead. 
There's  a  rest  for  the  spirit,  that  the  faithful  can  see, 
For  faith  shall  inherit  that  fair  countrie. 

And  the  bleak  blast  o'  time  on  the  gray  head  may  blaw, 

The  nest  may  be  herried,  my  best  taen  awa ; — 

But  I'll  meet  wi  her  yet,  where  the  blast  winna  be, 

Nor  a  sun  ever  set  in  that  fair  countrie. 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
Moorskedabad,  Bengal, 

lOtk  September,  1831. 


The  last  of  the  poems  of  this  year  that  I  have  been  able 
to  discover,  is  the  following  paraphrase  of  John  xi.  40. 

John  xi.  40. — Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Said  I  not  unto  thee,  that  if  thou  wouldst  believe 

thou  shouldst  see  the  glory  of  God  ? 

1  would  believe  Thee,  blessed  Lord  ! 

Help  thou  mine  unbelief ! 
And  let  thy  promises  afford 

This  weary  heart  relief. 

h  2 


60  SELECT    REMAINS    OP 

Beyond  the  gloomy  vale  of  death, 

Raise  all  my  hopes  to  Thee, 
And  with  the  piercing  eye  of  faith 

May  I  thy  glory  see. 
Lord,  Thou  hast  wept  to  see  the  grief 

Of  mourners  round  the  tomb, 
And  Thou  canst  give  eternal  life 

To  all  that  to  Thee  come; 
With  happy  hope  revive  my  heart, 

That,  through  thy  saving  grace, 
The  friends,  who  here  in  sorrow  part, 

In  heaven  may  see  thy  face. 
Jesus  !  when  unto  Thee  at  last 

My  spirit  I  resign, 
On  Thee  my  care  O  let  me  cast ! 

Lord  save  me,  I  am  thine  ! 

Moorshedabad,  20tk  September,  1831. 


1832. 


J.  A.  P. 


The  first  verses  of  1832  were,  I  believe,  the   following 
application  of  Mrs.  Pringle's  dying  words. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER   PKINGLE.  6l 

OH  LOOK  ON  HIGH  ! 

2  Con.  iv.  17,  18. 

I  kiss'd  her  cheek — her  death-pale  cheek ! 

I  closed  her  death-cold  eye ! 
But,  hush !     Oh  hear  that  voice  so  dear, — 

"  Seek  Heaven  !     Oh  look  on  high  P 

I  put  her  to  sleep  in  the  dark  grave  deep, 

With  the  dust  of  the  dead  to  lie ; 
But  a  voice  on  the  breeze,  o'er  the  cypress  trees, 

Sigh'd,  "Weep  not!     Oh  look  on  high!" 

When  I  mourn  alone  by  yon  gray  grave  stone, 

And  dream  of  all  joy  now  bye, 
Her  own  sweet  smile  may  I  see,  the  while 

When  she  said,  "  Oh  look  on  high  ! " 

And  still  may  I  hear,  when  starts  the  tear, 

And  swells  the  woe-drawn  sigh, 
These  words  of  rest  to  the  Christian's  breast, 

"  Seek  Heaven!     Oh  look  on  high  I" 

J.  A.  Pringle. 

Moorshedabad,  1832. 

They  were  the  last  words  of  a  dying  Christian,  at  the  close  of  a  con- 
versation, a  few  days  before  she  was  to  resign  her  soul  to  the  hands  of  her 
Saviour.  Often  do  they  come  over  the  memory  in  the  lonely  hours,  like 
a  ray  through  the  dark  cloud  that  shades  a  heavy  heart. 


<»2  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

His  birth-day  this  year  produced  the  following- : — 

MY  BIRTHDAY. 

Dei't.  viii.  2,  5,  6. — And  thou  shalt  remember  all  the  way  which  the  Lord  thy  God 
led  thee  these  forty  years  in  the  wilderness,  to  humble  thee  and  to  prove 
thee,  whether  thou  wonkiest  keep  his  commandments  or  no.  Thou  shalt  also 
consider  in  thine  heart  that,  as  a  man  chasteneth  his  son,  so  the  Lord  thy  God 
chasteneth  thee.  Therefore  thou  shalt  keep  the  commandments  of  the  Lord 
thy  God  to  walk  in  his  way  and  to  fear  Him. 

The  toil-worn  traveller,  from  the  mountain's  brow, 
When  lengthen^  shadows  mark  the  setting  sun, 
Looks  anxious  for  a  shelter  lone  and  low, 
Where,  weary,  he  may  rest, — his  journey  done. 
Yet  on  the  long  wild  wilderness  now  past, 
With  all  its  chequer1  d  scenes  of  shade  and  smile, 
Oft  will  he  pause,  a  lingering  look  to  cast, 
Where  a  gray  stone  records  the  by-gone  mile. 
Thus,  pausing,  I  review  my  lengthening  way, — 
Its  joys,  its  griefs,  in  memories  light  appear, 
Where  time,  with  wrinkled  cheek  now  old  and  gray, 
Notes  the  conclusion  of  another  year. 
And,  while  along  life's  wilderness  I  trace, 
Goodness  and  mercy  marking  all  my  days, 
My  own  unworthiness,  my  Saviour's  grace, 
Great  Spirit !  wake  my  soul  to  thankful  praise1. 

1  Psalm  lxxvii.  11 — 14. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  (i.'j 

Thy  wisdom,  Lord,  these  forty  years  hath  led 

Thy  servant  through  this  world's  dangerous  wild18; 

Thy  bounty  clothed  him,  and  thy  mercy  fed, 

While  love  unwearied  spared  the  froward  child. 

This  broken  heart,  deep  in  the  vale  of  tears, 

Thy  grace  hath  taught  to  kiss  the  chastening  rod3; 

In  sorrow's  hour,  thy  Gospel  soothed  my  fears, 

I  heard  a  Father's  voice,  I  own'd  my  God*. 

While  back  I  look  upon  the  changeful  scene, 

Teach  me,  in  all,  thy  Providence  to  see5 ; 

This  lesson  from  the  past,  O  let  me  glean, 

In  humble  faith  to  cast  my  care  on  Thee6. 

And  leave  me  not,  unfriended  by  thy  light, 

To  wander  on  in  error's  winding  way7; 

Beam  o'er  my  soul  in  sorrow's  gloomy  night, 

And  shade  it,  Lord,  from  pleasure's  dazzling  ray8. 

From  all  self-glory  and  presumptuous  pride9, 

To  keep  me  pure,  thy  mighty  aid  afford10; 

This  helpless  heart,  O  deign  my  God  to  guide, 

To  love  thy  law  and  keep  thy  holy  word. 

Forsake  me  not,  I  pray,  in  mine  old  age, 

When  heart  and  strength  are  failing,  still  be  nigh11 ; 


2  Psalm  ciii.  8 — 14.  s  Ibid.  cxvi.  5 — 8.  4  Ibid.  xxxi.  7. 

5  Ibid.  xciv.  17—19.  6  Ibid.  Ixii.  8  ;  liv.  22.  1  Ibid.  li.  9—12. 

8  Ibid.  lxix.  16—18.  9  Ibid.  xix.  12—14  ;  cxix.  124,  125. 

10  Ibid.  cxix.  124, 125.  1J  Ibid.  lxxi.  9. 


1)4.  SELFXT    REMAINS    OP 

And,  when  I  close  my  weary  pilgrimage, 
Receive  me,  Father,  in  thy  rest  on  high'2. 
Hear,  Thou  who  leadest  Israel  like  a  flock13 ! 
Support  me  through  the  deep  with  thy  right  hand  u, 
In  Jordan's  whelming  flood  be  Thou  my  rock'*; — 
Lord  Jesus,  lead  me  to  thy  Promised  Land  ! 
Moorshedabad,  Vjth  April,  1832.  J.  A.  Pbingle. 

The  following-  lines  upon  the  Motto  of  a  Seal  his  beloved 
wife  wore,  all  breathe  the  same  mournful  strain. 

IB&i  CQVC  !     'Twas  the  motto  on  her  seal, — 

'Twas  graven  on  her  looks  where  love  was  beaming, 

Her  voice  the  truth  of  it  would  still  reveal, 

It  sparkled  in  her  deep  dark  eye. — 

Through  pity's  tear,  or  when  it  laugh'd  in  joy, 

Dal  core  was  the  charm  that  in  her  eye  was  gleaming. 

dal  COVt ! — Yes  ! — Whene'er  she  sought  her  God, — 

Of  humble  piety  and  faith  the  token, — 

Thence  joyful  praise  for  every  mercy  flow'd, 

And,  when  the  Christian  to  her  Saviour  pray'd, 

In  holy  light  upon  her  brow  it  play'd, — 

Tho'  hush'd  in  awe  her  breath  ! — tho'  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

12  Psalm  lxxiii.  24.  ,s  Ibid.  lxxx.  1.  14  Ibid.  lxix.  1,  2. 

15  Ibid,  exxxviii.  7,  8  ;  lxi.  1  ;  xxxi.  1,  2,  3,  5. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  65 

$&al  COVe  be  our  motto  while  we  strive, 

Like  her,  in  purity  and  meek  submission, 

To  live  as  Christian  Pilgrims  ought  to  live, 

Bending  our  wishes  to  God's  holy  will, 

Seeking  for  grace  his  precepts  to  fulfil, 

Till  glad,  we  meet,  through  Christ,  where  faith  is  lost  in  vision. 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
Moorshedabad,  1832. 


1833. 


I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  earlier  verses  in  the  year 
1833  than  the  following : — 


JOHNX.  11—18. 

Why  close  thine  ear  against  the  word 

That  might  thy  comfort  be,  sinner? 
Why  steel  thy  heart  against  the  Lord, 

Who  gave  his  life  for  thee,  sinner? 
His  righteous  wrath  no  longer  brave, 

But  to  the  Refuge  flee,  sinner ; 
Oh  trust  his  holy  word,  who  gave 

His  only  Son  for  thee,  sinner. 

To  ransom  thee,  thy  Lord  was  slain, 
And  hung  upon  the  tree,  sinner, 


66  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 


His  blood  alone  could  cleanse  thy  stain, 
That  blood  He  shed  for  thee,  sinner. 

And  wilt  thou  still  refuse  the  grace, 
And  from  his  mercy  flee,  sinner  ; 

Ungrateful  wilt  thou  hide  thy  face, 

When  Christ  would  set  thee  free,  sinner  ? 

Oh  rather  fall  before  his  throne, 

And,  low  on  bended  knee,  brother, 
Thy  guilt,  thy  grief,  to  Him  make  known, 

He  will  not  turn  from  thee,  brother. 
No — gently  He  thy  doubts  will  chide, 

And  lead  thee  in  the  way,  brother ; 
Come  follow  then  our  glorious  Guide, 

To  everlasting  day,  brother. 


Moorskedabad,  March  31,  1833. 


J.  A.  Pringle. 


PSALM  XXXI.  1—7. 

In  Thee  is  my  trust,  O  Lord  ! 
Now  by  thy  righteous  word, 
Comfort  and  aid  afford, 

Save  me,  O  save  me  ! 

Rock  of  my  strength  be  nigh, 
Bend  from  thy  throne  on  high, 
Hasten  to  hear  my  cry, 

Save  me,  O  save  me  ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  6*7 

Lord,  in  the  evil  hour, 
Keep  me  from  Satan's  power, 
Thou  art  my  strength  and  tower, 

Save  me,  O  save  me  ! 

Wanderers  in  vanity, 

Far  be  your  ways  from  me, 

My  soul  I  commit  to  Thee, 

Save  me,  0  save  me ! 

Glory  to  God  on  high ! 

Still  in  adversity, 

Thou,  O  my  God,  art  nigh, 

Save  me,  0  save  me ! 


Again  on  his  birth-day,  this  year,  we  have  the  warbling  of 
a  sorrowful  spirit. 

Isaiah  lvii.  18. — I  have  seen  his  ways  and  will  heal  him :  I  will  lead  him  also,  and  will 
restore  comfort  to  him  and  to  his  mourners. 

Another  year,  my  God  !   hath  fled, 

Since  first  I  saw  the  light. — 
Still,  weaker  runs  life's  shortening  thread, 
As  down  the  vale  of  time  I  tread, — 
Soon  to  be  numbered  with  the  dead, 
In  dark  and  dreary  night ! 

i2 


68 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Oh  !    ma)'  thy  Spirit  be  my  guide, 
To  lead  me  on  my  way. 

Lord  !    let  me  in  thy  strength  abide, — 

Still  in  thy  promises  confide, — 

Teach  me  to  trust  in  none  beside, 
In  trouble's  gloomy  day. 

To  inward  peace,  to  holy  joy, 

My  weary  heart  restore; — 
To  comforts  that  can  never  cloy, 
Like  those  that  worldly  thoughts  employ,- 
Bright  hopes,  unmingled  with  alloy, 
That  shine  for  evermore. 


When  Christian  friends  are  called  from  me, 

Their  loss  while  I  deplore ; 
Thy  mercy  let  the  mourner  see, — 
Though  broken  here  each  tie  may  be, 
Lord  !    bind  my  loosened  heart  to  thee, 
In  heaven,  for  evermore. 
Moorshedabarf,  April  17,  1833.  J.  A.  Pringle. 

The  following-  lines  were  written  during  a  dangerous 
illness  at  Moorshedabad,  October  4,  1833,  and  are  thus  pre- 
faced by  himself  in  the  MS.  book  from  which  the)  are 
taken : — 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGI.E.  69 

It  has  pleased  our  Heavenly  Father  in  wisdom  infinite  to  visit  me 
with  a  fever,  which  may  yet  prove  fatal.  I  myself  feel  that  this  is 
probable,   and  I  know  it  from   the  remarks  that  pass  between  others. 

My  very  dear  ones  of  Yair  and   Mount  Annan,  my  own, 

my  beloved  relations !  what  passes  in  my  own  heart  at  the  prospect  of 
this  separation,  assures  me  that  you,  too,  will  grieve  for  it.  I  can  but 
say  to  you,  what  she  did  to  me  before  she  fell  asleep :  "  Seek  Heaven  ! 
O.  look  on  high!  Call  on  the  Lord  in  your  trouble,  and  He  will  hear 
you."  Now,  whether  my  days  are  numbered  and  reduced  to  a  span,  or  I 
am  spared  still  longer  in  this  life,  may  I  be  enabled  heartily  at  its  close 
to  say  to  those  I  love  and  leave  behind  me, — 


Weep  not  for  me,  my  race  is  almost  run  ; 
Mourn  not,  rejoice,  the  prize  will  soon  be  won ; 
My  soul,  through  grace  restored,  soon  wing  its  way 
To  glory  far  beyond  the  beam  of  day. 
Yes  !  for  the  weary  one  with  sin  oppressM, 
Our  Saviour  calls  to  come  to  Him  for  rest ; 
He  calls  who  died  our  sinking  souls  to  free, 
And  sinless  bore  our  sin  upon  the  tree. 
I  know  in  whom  I  trust, — in  Him  alone 
Who  pleads  for  man  before  his  Father's  throne, 
Who  prayed  that  his  redeemed  with  Him  might  be, 
And  in  his  kingdom  all  his  glory  see. 

Earth  and  earth's  toys  are  fading  from  my  sight ! 
Dull  grows  my  ear  to  all  that  could  delight ! 


70  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Does  reason  totter  ? — do  I  dream  I — I  see 
Bright  messengers  of  Heaven  beckon  me. 
Oh,  say,  does  sound  deceive  me,  that  I  hear 
Sweet  songs  of  angels  melting  on  mine  ear  ? 
How  my  poor  prison'd  spirit  pants  to  fly, 
And  seek  my  Saviour  in  his  rest  on  high ; 
There  with  the  choir  of  Heaven  my  voice  to  raise, 
And  tune  the  harp  to  sound  my  Maker's  praise. 
What  joy  to  meet  upon  that  happy  shore 
My  heart's  one  love, — to  meet — and  part  no  more  ! 
Shall  I  with  her  I  moura'd  so  long  alone, 
Yet  worship  God  in  Heaven  before  his  throne  I 
With  her  kneel  hand  in  hand  all  clothed  in  light, 
While  in  his  praise  our  mingling  souls  unite  ? 
O  lovely  vision  !  near  and  nearer  come, 
The  guides  of  glory  sent  to  lead  me  home. 

The  icy  waters  of  the  gulf  of  death 
Chill  all  my  limbs  and  check  my  lab'ring  breath  : 
Thy  servant,  Lord,  is  ready  ; — in  this  hour 
Preserve  my  soul  with  thine  almighty  power, 
Home  to  thy  fold  the  way-worn  wanderer  bring. 
Dark  tomb — where  now  thy  triumph  ? 
Where,  O  Death,  thy  sting  ? 


r-r~*SZ$i; 


P. 


■Uto 
V:. 


>/A 


• 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  71 

The  following  note  and  verses  were  written  in  a  book 
along  with  the  Psalm,  "  By  Babel's  Marshy  Stream." 

Sick,  wasted,  and  worn,  when  looking  over  the  long,  flat,  weary 
plains  through  which  the  broad  Ganges  rolls  his  turbid  tide,  the  wanderer 
who  has  sighed  to  cool  his  fevered  lips  with  one  fresh  breeze  from  the 
brown  heathery  hills,  so  sweet  to  childhood,  so  dear  to  memory,  and  who 
can  even,  while  sinking  strength  and  ebbing  life  show  too  plainly  how- 
vain  the  wish,  still  long  for  one  last  look  of  Scotland,  and  those  friends 
whose  sweet  society  did  make  her  hills  indeed  his"  home — yes  !  that 
wanderer  can  feel,  to  his  heart's  heart,  the  exquisite  natural  but  mournful 
beauties  of  the  Psalm,  which  the  following  is  an  attempt  to  imitate  in 
English. 

PSALM  CXXXVII.  1—8. 

By  Babel's  marshy  stream  we  sat, 

Fast  down  our  cheeks  salt  tears  were  falling, 
For,  aye,  our  hearts  sought  Sion's  gate —  . 

Far,  far  from  home,  home  thoughts  recalling ! 
Our  harps,  neglected  and  unstrung, 

With  music's  voice  no  longer  blending, 
Upon  the  willow  trees  we  hung, 

O'er  Babylon's  dark  waters  bending. 

For  spoilers  taunt  our  captive  band, — 

They  seek  for  songs  amidst  our  sadness ; — 

The  song  we  sung  in  Judah's  land, 

When  Sion  bloom'd  in  days  of  gladness : 


72  SELECT    KEMAINS    OF 

Can  exiles  on  a  distant  strand, — 

To  holy  hymns  the  harp  awaking, — 
Can  captives,  in  a  stranger  land, 

Sing  Sion's  song  when  hearts  are  breaking? 

Yet,  oh,  this  voice  must  cease  in  death, 

Ere  aught  can  from  my  heart  remove  thee  ! 
Jerusalem  !    my  latest  breath 

Shall  sweetly  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee  ! 
Ere  I  forget  thee,  lovely  land, 

My  fingers,  now  the  harpstrings  sweeping, 
Must  lose  their  charm,  this  skilful  hand 

In  cold  forgetfulness  lie  sleeping ! 

O  Lord  !  remember  Edom's  pride, 

When  thy  dread  day  hung  o'er  our  nation,- — 
Ruin'd  be  her  towers  !   they  cried, — 

Low  laid  in  dust  and  desolation  ! 
Dire  retribution  yet  shall  meet 

Proud  Babylon's  ill-fated  daughter ; 
Thy  mangled  babes  shall  strew  thy  street, 

While  foes  exult  o'er  infant-slaughter. 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
Moorshedabad,  October,  1833. 


There  is  no  date  to  the  following-  lines,  but  they  appear 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  73 

to  have  some  reference  to  his  visit  to  the  tomb  of  her   lie 
mourned. 

Is  it  a  voice  from  heav'n  above 

That  calls  the  wancTrer  home? 
Is  it  our  Saviour's  voice  of  love 

That  bids  the  weary  come? 
Is  it  a  hand  of  heav'n  I  see, 
Through  the  gloom,  that  beckons  me, 
Where  lightsome  day,  most  gloriously, 

Beams  beyond  the  tomb? 

And  may  a  sinful  man  presume 

To  smile  upon  the  grave? 
And  calmly  sink  into  the  tomb, — 

The  King  of  terror's  cave? 
Yes! — Death  hath  lost  his  sting! 
Harken  !     Holy  Angels  sing, 
"  Hell  is  vanquish^ !     Christ  our  King 

The  ransom'd  soul  doth  save  J11 

J.  A.  P. 

PSALM  XXX. 

Thy  praises  my  God  will  I  sing: 

Thou,  Lord,  hast  still  been  my  aid ; 
My  soul  from  the  snare  Thou  didst  bring; 

Thou  hast  heal'd  me,  O  Lord,  when  I  pray'd ; 


K 


7^ 


SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

From  the  gloomy  grave — 
From  death's  dismal  cave, 
Thou  my  soul  dost  save  and  raise. 
Still,  still  my  song  shall  be, 
My  God,  in  hymns  to  Thee, 

0  join,  ye  Saints,  with  me  in  praise; — 

Swift  is  God's  wrath  in  its  flight, 

His  favour  brings  life  on  its  wings  ; 
Though  the  mourner  sat  weeping  at  night, 
For  joy  in  the  morning  he  sings. 
In  life's  sunny  hour  secure, 
Though  clouds  may  lower, 

1  fancied  still  my  tower  stood  alone. 

Thy  favour  made  me  proud. 
Thou  didst  thy  face  but  shroud, 
My  vaunting  once  so  loud  was  gone  ; 

I  cried  to  the  Lord,  and  I  prayed, 

My  God,  in  my  death  is  there  gain, 
Hear  me,  and  help  me,  I  said, 
In  mercy  restore  me  again. 

Thou  my  wounded  breast 

Hast  restored  to  rest, 
And  me  in  gladness  dressed  again ; 

Join  the  song  with  me, 

To  Thee,  O  God,  to  Thee, 
Loud  shall  the  shout  be. — Amen. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  YO 

1834. 

The  first  piece  of  this  year,  are  the  following  lines. 

Hebrews  xiii.  5. — Be  content  with  such  things  as  ye  have;  for  He  hath  said,  I  will 
never  leave  thee,  nor  forsake  thee. 

In  the  original  Greek  : 

Avrot  yap  eipr/Kev,  ov  prj  ae  ava>,  ov8'  ov  fxrj  o~e  eyKaraktTrat : 
For  He  hath  said,  "  No,  I  will  never  leave  thee  !  No,  no,  I  will  not  forsake  thee." 

Genesis  xxviii.  15. — And  behold  I  am  with  thee  and  will  keep  thee  in  all  places  whi- 
ther thou  goest,  and  will  bring  thee  again  into  this  land  :  for  I  Mill  not  leave 
thee,  until  I  have  done  that  which  I  have  spoken  to  thee  of. 

Pilgrim,  though  these  weary  sighs1 
Breathe  of  pain  and  speak  of  care2, 

Oh  covet  not  what  God  denies, 
Be  content  the  cross  to  bear3. 

Time  may  of  health  and  wealth  bereave  thee, 
Ruthless  death,  all-lonely  make  thee4, — 
Still  He  saith,  "  I  will  not  leave  thee, 
No  ;  I  never  will  forsake  thee5.11 

Let  no  repining  wish  intrude, 
Blighted  though  they  prospect  be6, 

1  Psalm  xlii.  5,  3.  2  Luke  xxii.  42.  3  Heb.  xii.  1  ;  James  v.  1 1 . 

4  Isaiah  xl.  1  ;  xlix.  14, 15.  5  Ibid.  xli.  10  ;  xlii.  1C. 

G  Ibid.  xlv.  7,  9,  22  ;  Lam.  iii.  39  ;  Isaiah  Ivii.  15. 

K   2 


76  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Cast  all  thy  care  upon  thy  God, 
Thy  Redeemer  cares  for  thee7. 

Not  willingly  the  Lord  would  grieve  thee", 
Though  trouble  now  may  overtake  thee, 
He  hath  said,  "  Til  never  leave  thee, 
Christian,  I  will  not  forsake  thee9." 

Then,  through  the  Saviour,  seek  thy  God10, 
Thy  heart  in  supplication  raise11, — 

Bow  beneath  his  chastening  rod12, 
He  can  turn  each  prayer  to  praise. 

Oh,  call  on  Him  who  can  relieve  thee13, 
In  trouble  to  thy  God  betake  thee ; 
He  hath  promised  not  to  leave  thee14, 
"  Never  will  thy  God  forsake  thee." 

Poor  weary  weeping  one .'    to  Christ 
Come  in  faith,  and  calm  thy  fear15; 

To  give  the  heavy-laden  rest16, 
To  bring  thee  home,  thy  Lord  is  near17. 

7  Psalm  lv.  22  ;  1  Peter  v.  6,  7  ;   John  iii.  16.  "  Lam.  iii.  31 — :^S. 

3  John  xiv.  18;  Matt,  xxviii.  20.  I0  Heb.  iv.  10;  llosen  vi.  1. 

"  Lam.  iii.  41.  12  Isaiah  xliii.  1,  2,  11.  13  Psalm  1.  15.  "  Dent.  xxxi.  8. 

15  John  vi.  37  ;   Matt.  xiv.  31 ;  John  vi.  20. 

16  Matt.  xi.  28.  17  Jolin  xiv.  1—3. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    TRINGLE.  77 

No  longer  let  the  world  deceive  thee18, 
Hear  his  voice — to  life  awake  thee19  ! 
Christ  hath  said,    "  I'll  never  leave  thee." 
Pilgrim  !    God  will  not  forsake  thee. 

J.    A.    PrINGLE. 

Moorshedabad,  April  6,  1834. 

Genesis  xxviii.  16.— And  Jacob  awaked  out  of  his  sleep,  and  he  said,  "  Surely  the  Lord 

is  in  this  place  ;  and  I  knew  it  not." 

I  rather  think  the  following  lines  were  written  on  his 
birth-day,  April  17,  this  year,  though  they  do  not  bear  that 
date. 

In  the  sunburnt  jungles  of  dark  Hindustan, 

While  wasted  and  worn  I  roam, 
How  oft  is  my  heart  in  my  own  native  land, 

Far  away  among  visions  of  home ; 
Where  the  silvery  wave  in  each  river  and  rill 

To  me  is  the  fairest  that  flows, 
Where  the  breath  of  the  blast  on  the  brown  heather  hill 

Is  the  sweetest — the  freshest  that  blows ! 

When  listless  and  lonely  I  pant  for  the  breeze, 

In  the  feverish  fens  of  Bengal, 
While  drooping  and  damp  are  the  leaves  on  the  trees, 

That  hang  o'er  yon  moss-covered  wall ; 

18  1  John  ii.  15—17  ;  Rom.  viii.  32.  ,(l  Eph.  v.  14. 


~^>  SELECT    UKM.WXS    OF 

O  what  would  I  give  just  to  breathe  once  again 

The  blast  as  it  blows  over  Yair, 
To  quaff,  as  they  glide  down  the  dear  native  glen, 

Tweed's  waters  so  cool  and  so  fair  ! 

Time  was — it  is  past — when,  unclouded  with  care, 

All  nature  looked  lovely  to  me, — 
Thy  heart  for  my  home — e'en  Bengala  was  fair, 

Sweet  love,  when  enlivened  by  thee. 
Ay — past  is  my  day  of  romance,  and  its  glow, 

That  tinted  each  landscape  with  light, 
Long  quenched  in  the  tear-drops  from  sorrow  that  How. 

Soon  will  set  in  the  grave's  gloomy  night. 

Yet,  why  am  I  sad  ?    Here  Thou  seest  me,  Lord ! 

And  the  desert  shall  bloom  as  the  rose ; 
Thy  comforting  Spirit  still  breathes  in  thy  word, 

Where  the  water  of  life  ever  flows. 
Though  fainting  and  weary,  Thou  lookest  on  me, 

Thou  guidest  the  wanderer's  way ; 
Wherever  I  am — never  lonely  with  Thee — 

O  still  be  my  strength  and  ray  stay ! 


Near  Bikrumpore.  Zilla  Kishmtqua, 
April,  1834. 


J.  A. 


The  above  written  on  a  blank  leaf  at  the  end  of  Baxter's  Saint's  Rest. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  71' 

1835. 

The  following  lines  were  inclosed  in  a  letter  to  his  sister 
Margaret  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  a  name  he  said  he 
liked. 

THE  SUNSHINY  MORNING. 

Psalm   xxx.  5. 

There's  a  stage  in  life's  journey  when,  careless  and  gay, 
Through  dreams  and  delusions  delighted  we  stray, 
While  little  we  fancy  a  dreary  dark  day 

May  follow  the  sunshiny  morning. 

If  health  be  our  portion,  if  wealth  be  our  pride, 
If  home  look  all  lovely,  on  thoughtless  we  glide ; 
Do  the  gifts  to  the  Giver  our  gratitude  guide, 

While  we  bask  in  life's  sunshiny  morning  ! 

But  sickness  may  follow,  and  riches  may  fly, 
Affliction  may  change  the  glad  smile  to  a  sigh, 
As  a  cold  gloomy  cloud  will  come  over  the  sky 


To  sadden  the  sunshiny  morning 


O  let  not  such  changes  unheeded  go  past, 
Prepare  for  the  tempest,  and  hasten  to  cast 
The  anchor  of  hope  in  the  Rock  that  will  last, 
And  wait  for  a  sunshiny  morning. 


80  SELECT    REMAIN'S    OF 

Tis  sweet,  when  the  clouds  of  adversity  lower, 
The  soft  beam  of  mercy  to  see  through  the  shower, 
As  the  raindrops  that  hang  on  the  wet  drooping  flower 
Reflect  the  bright  sunshiny  morning. 

In  grief  or  in  danger,  in  want  or  in  pain, 
Despair  not  then,  Pilgrim,  but  stedfast  remain  ; 
The  night  that  is  cloudy  may  clear  up  again, 
And  change  to  a  sunshiny  morning. 

April  17,  1835. 


The  following  translation  of  the  84th  Psalm,  which  1  find 
in  a  letter  to  his  sister  Charlotte,  from  the  Cape  also,  May, 
1835. 

PSALM  LXXXIV. 

Lord  God  of  Sabaoth,  how  lovely,  how  sweet, 

In  the  place  Thou  hast  chosen,  to  kneel  at  thy  feet ! 

The  wish  of  my  soul,  the  desire  of  my  heart, 

Is  to  dwell  in  thy  presence,  to  be  where  Thou  art. 

The  sparrow,  O  Lord,  in  thy  temple  doth  rest  ! 

For  the  swallow  thine  altars  have  furnish1  d  a  nest ! 

And  there  her  young  nestlings  enjoy  an  abode, 

They  dwell  where  Thou  dwellest,  my  King  and  my  God  ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  SI 

Thrice  happy  are  they  who  may  meet  in  thy  place, 
To  sing  in  thy  praises,  to  pray  for  thy  grace  ; 
And  blessed  the  people  whose  strength  is  the  Lord, 
The  guide  of  whose  hearts  is  the  way  of  thy  word  : 

Who  find  it  a  spring  in  the  valley  of  grief, — 
A  well  of  refreshment  to  bring  them  relief; 
Still  onward,  still  upward,  their  footsteps  shall  be, 
Till  the  God  of  their  glory  in  Zion  they  see. 

Lord  God  of  Sabaoth,  O  bow  down  thine  ear  ! 
The  prayer  of  thy  servant,  thou  Holy  One  hear  ! 
Through  Christ  thine  anointed  in  mercy  look  down, 
Our  strength,  our  preserver,  0  look  on  thine  own  ! 

One  day  in  thy  courts  is  more  pleasant  to  me 
Than  ages  devoted  to  folly  could  be ; 
And  the  least  in  thy  temple  is  happier  far 
Than  the  great  in  the  tents  of  ungodliness  are. 

For  the  Lord  is  a  sun  and  a  shield  to  his  own ; 
All  grace  and  all  glory  proceed  from  his  Throne ; 
No  gift  that  is  good  will  his  mercy  refuse 
To  such  as  the  pathway  of  holiness  choose. 

» 

Blessed,  oh  blessed  for  ever  is  he, 

Lord  God  of  Sabaoth,  who  trusteth  in  Thee  ! 

J.  A.  P. 


82  SELECT    REiMAINS    OF 


Malachi  iv.  2.— But  unto  you  that  fear  my  name  shall  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  arise 

with  healing  on  his  wings. 


Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise  ! 

Lord,  let  thy  light  appear ! 
Thou  wilt  not  humble  prayer  despise, — 

Thee,  Lord  of  Hosts,  we  fear. 
Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise ! 

With  healing  on  thy  wings; 
Thy  beam  the  tear  of  sorrow  dries, 

And  heavenly  comfort  brings. 

Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise ! 

O  shed  abroad  thy  ray ! 
For  Thee  we  look — with  longing  eyes, 

We  watch  thy  dawning  day. 
Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise ! 

And  shine  from  pole  to  pole ! 
Dispel  the  gloom  that  round  us  lies, — 

Enlighten  every  soul. 

Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise  ! 

Within  our  bosoms  glow ! 
Draw  from  our  hearts  sin's  deepest  dyes, 

And  make  us  white  as  snow. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  83 

Rise,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise ! 

Thy  goodness  may  we  see ; 
And,  where  thy  glory  lights  the  skies, 

Lord,  let  our  dwelling  be ! 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
Calcutta,  December  25,  1835. 


1836. 
The  first  piece  of  this  year  is  the  following,  on  his  birth-day : — 

•      Matthew  xi.  23. — Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 

give  you  rest. 

Hath  conscience  discovered  the  sin  of  thy  heart, — 
Hath  reason  revealed  how  helpless  thou  art1, — 
Are  science  and  learning  unable,  combined, 
A  cure  for  thy  terrified  spirit  to  find  ? 

Contrite  sinner,  come  to  Jesus, 

A  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break, 

From  sin  and  wrath  his  ransom  frees  us, 

Pray  for  mercy  for  his  sake. 

Doth  nature  give  way  beneath  poverty's  frown", — 
Hath  the  blast  of  adversity  over  thee  blown, — 
Hath  friendship  been  false,  or  hath  malice  been  bold, — 
Hath  the  sun  of  this  world  set  cheerless  and  cold3? 

1  1  Cor.  i.  17  to  end.  2  James  ii.  5.  3  Eccles.  vii.  14  ;  Psalm  cxviii.  5 — 9. 

L2 


<S+  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

Take  the  cross  and  follow  Jesus, 
Look  for  comfort  in  his  word, 
That  never  did  nor  will  deceive  us, 
Cast  all  thy  care  upon  thy  Lord. 

Hath  the  eye  of  affection  and  sympathy  smiled, 
To  lighten  thy  toil  in  life's  wilderness  wild, — 
Hath  the  loved,  and  the  lovely,  sunk  into  the  tomb, 
And  changed  to  a  desert  the  joys  of  a  home4? 

Christian  mourner,  lean  on  Jesus, 

He  hath  wept  for  human  grief; 

In  solitude  our  Saviour  sees  us, 

Hears  our  prayer  and  grants  relief. 

In  the  darkness  of  danger,  of  dread,  and  despair, 
Doth  confidence  fail  thee  when  evil  is  near5? 
When  sickness  o'erwhelms  thy  labouring  breath, 
Doth  terror  alarm  with  a  prospect  of  death? 

In  all  thy  troubles  come  to  Jesus, 

Pray  to  be  with  patience  blest ; 

He  hath  promised  to  release  us, 

Christ  will  give  the  weary  rest. 

J.  A.  Pbingle. 
April  17,  1836. 

*  Job  v.  6—11.  s  Rom.  viii.  35—39. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  85 

The  next  is  the  following  beautiful  burst  of  feeling,  on 
seeing  the  remains  of  his  beloved  sister  at  Durie. 

Je  be  mi  ah  xv.  9. — She  that  hath  borne  seven  languisheth  ;  she  hath  given  up  the  ghost; 
her  sun  hath  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day. 

Pale  is  that  placid  face,  faded  its  glow  ! 
Spirit  that  kindled  it,  where  art  thou  now? 
Clingest  thou  still  to  clay,  sleeping  in  dust? 
Spirit  that  cannot  he, — God  is  our  trust ! 

Soul  of  the  loved  one,  where  hast  thou  fled  ? 
Where  is  thy  dwelling-place,  soul  of  the  dead? 
High  o'er  the  starry  sky,  far  through  its  dome, 
Angels  have  wafted  thee  hence  to  thy  home. 

Light  of  the  lonely  one,  brightest  and  best ! 

Where  hath  thy  spirit  flown,  where  doth  it  rest? 

For  ever  with  Jesus,  joyous,  and  blessM, 

Robed  in  His  righteousness,  there  is  thy  rest ! 

J.  A.  Pringle. 
Durie,  December  6,  1836. 

As  a  sequel  to  these  lines,  I  insert  here  some  verses  by 
Mrs.  Christie,  of  Durie,  which  her  brother  admired  much,  and 
had  placed  among  his  precious  relics : — 


86  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

ON  THE  CREST  AND  MOTTO  OF  THE  PRINGLES  OF 

WHYTBANK. 

"Sursum,"  and  a  Winged  Heart. 

How  glorious  were  the  days  of  old, 

When  noble  knights  and  warriors  bold 

Arose  at  love  or  honour's  call, 

Bravely  to  conquer  or  to  fall; 

And  oft  a  higher  aim  inspired 

Their  souls  by  warm  devotion  fired, 

Nor  could  they  brook  that  Islam's  race 

Usurped  the  Christian's  noblest  place, 

But  left  for  Syria's  rugged  strand 

Their  much-loved  home  and  native  land, 

From  impious  Pagans'  power  to  save 

Their  great  Redeemer's  hallowed  grave, 

That  Pilgrims  from  afar  might  come 

To  worship  at  his  lowly  tomb. 

But,  born  in  more  enlightened  years, 

How  vain  to  us  this  strife  appears ! 

How  vain  that  spot  to  watch  with  care  !  — 

The  Saviour's  image  is  not  there, 

But  dwells  in  each  believer's  heart, 

From  whence  it  never  will  depart. 

But  while  their  ignorance  we  blame, 
i 

Their  zeal  at  least  respect  may  claim, 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE. 


87 


And  sure  a  lesson  they  afford, 

How  Christians  ought  to  love  their  Lord. 

Like  them  I  seek  my  life  to  spend 
In  living  for  lifers  noblest  end ; 
Beneath  the  banner  of  the  cross 
Would  count  my  richest  gain  but  loss, 
And,  careless  of  this  world's  renown, 
Seek  to  obtain  a  heavenly  crown. 

And  while  each  warlike  crest  I  view, 
With  each  device  sublime  and  true, 
Fd  seek  among  these  crests  to  find 
Some  motto  still  to  bear  in  mind; 
And  surely  none  appears  so  fair 
As  that  my  fathers  used  to  bear. 
Then  let  me  choose  it  for  my  own, 
Be  this  my  aim  and  this  alone, 
That  upwards  on  the  wings  of  love 
My  heart  may  soar  to  realms  above, — 
And  may  no  mean  or  grov'lling  thing 
Make  me  descend  or  droop  the  wing, 
Till,  life's  temptations  safely  past, 
I  rest  in  heavenly  peace  at  last ! 

Elizabeth  Pringle,  Yair. 


88  SELECT    REMAINS    OF 

The  date  of  this  beautiful  hymn  is  not  given,  but  it  must 
have  been  about  this  period. 

HYMN. 

When  unto  Thee,  O  God,  our  voice  we  raise, 
Upon  our  souls  thy  Holy  Spirit  shed, 
That  Thou  may'st,  while  we  sing  thy  holy  praise, 
In  spirit  and  in  truth  be  worshipped. 

Our  life,  our  breath,  our  all  we  owe  to  Thee, 
Thy  Providence  supplies  our  daily  food, 
Thy  power  protects  us,  and  thy  hand  we  see, 
Where'er  we  turn,  extended  for  our  good. 

But  chief  of  all  we  magnify  thy  grace 

For  the  glad  tidings  in  the  Gospel  given, 

That  to  our  sinful,  lost  and  ruined  race, 

Through  Christ  our  Saviour,  shows  the  way  to  heaven. 

Almighty  Father !   we  will  sing  thy  prpise, 
Thy  name,  O  blessed  Saviour,  we  adore, 
Spirit  of  truth,  to  Thee  our  hymn  we  raise, 
Glory,  0  God,  to  Thee  for  evermore ! 

J.  A.  P. 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  89 

On  the  opening  of  the  new  Church  at  Bridekirk. 

Though  weak  and  unworthy, 

Great  God,  to  adore  Thee, 
We  come  to  thy  temple  our  homage  to  pay; 

Thou  Holy  One  hear  us, 

Thy  Spirit  be  near  us, 
Oh,  dwell  in  us  richly  on  this  thine  own  day! 

By  thought,  and  commission, 

Word,  deed,  and  omission, 
We've  broken  thy  laws,  and,  as  sheep,  gone  astray: 

Our  trespass  is  grievous, 

In  mercy  forgive  us, 
To  grace,  through  our  Saviour,  restore  us  we  pray. 

Our  sin  while  confessing, 

We  pray  for  a  blessing 
On  all  that  we  think,  that  we  do,  that  we  say. 

Oh,  shed  from  above 

Christian  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love, 
To  beam  in  our  bosoms,  and  lighten  our  way ! 

Though  ills  may  oppress  us, 
Let  nothing  distress  us, 
Thy  peace  be  our  portion,  thy  strength  be  our  stay ; 


90  SELECT    REMAINS   OF 

Till,  summon'd  to  meet  Thee, 
Our  glad  spirits  greet  Thee, 
"Our  Lord  and  our  God,"  through  eternity's  day. 

J.  A.  Pringi.e. 
Brydkirk,  Sunday,  October  9,  1836. 

1837. 
On  his  birth-day  this  year,  he  writes  : — 

Mark  vii.  37. — He  hath  done  all  things  well. 

Lord,  ere  I  sink  to  rest, 

O  wake  my  soul  to  song ! 
And  may  thy  Spirit  in  my  breast 

The  note  of  praise  prolong. 

Thou  hast  done  all  things  well; 

God  is  our  God  always; 
Thy  mercies  every  thought  excel, 

And  all  our  power  thy  praise. 

For  mercies  ever  new 

Thy  name  111  joyful  bless, 
And  in  affliction's  lessons  too 

Thy  goodness  111  confess. 

Thou  hast  done  all  things  well, 

Thy  ways  are  just  and  right, 
In  praise  let  all  our  voices  dwell, 

And  weary  hearts  unite ! 


JOHN    ALEXANDER    PRINGLE.  {J\ 

1 

But  O,  to  think  upon 

Thy  love,  that  for  us  gave 
Our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  thy  Son, 

Our  sinful  souls  to  save ! 

Oh  !  Thou  dost  all  things  well, 

Our  Saviour  and  our  Lord ! 
Age  unto  age  thy  love  shall  tell, — 

Thy  glory  shall  record. 

J.  A.  P. 

The  following  is  a  reply  to  one  of  his  sisters,  who  wrote  to 
him  from  England,  requesting  a  Christmas  song. 

Oh  seek  not  the  song  of  the  old, 

When  the  tale  of  his  youth  hath  been  told ; — 

The  muses  are  mute, — unstrung  is  the  lute, 

The  spirit  of  poesy  cold. 

To  the  young  and  the  joyous  belong, 

Mirth,  music,  and  dancing,   and  song, 

While  the  dear  ones  they  prize  live  to  gladden  their  eyes, 

And  hope  in  the  bosom  beats  strong. 

Oh  seek  not  the  song  of  the  old, 
When  the  tale  of  his  youth  hath  been  told ; — 
The  minstrel  is  mute,  and  broken  the  lute, 
The  spirit  of  poesy  cold. 

M  2 


92  SELECT   REMAINS   OF 

And  sorrow  hath  clouded  the  day, 

Lifo's  summer  hath  faded  away, 

And  the  time  hath  gone  by,  when  a  smile  or  a  sigh 

Could  gladden  or  sadden  the  lay. 

But  yet  may  the  song  of  the  old 

Revive  when  his  days  have  been  told ;  — 

When  lull\l    is  his  breath  on  the  bosom  of  death, 

And  he  sleeps  in  his  sepulchre  cold. 

Oh  then  may  his  glad  spirit  rise, 

Soaring  high  over  sorrow  and  sighs, 

And,  with  Seraphim,  raise  a  loud  anthem  of  praise, 

Where  the  Lord  wipeth  tears  from  all  eyes ! 

J.  A.  Pkingi.e. 


1838. 

The  last  piece  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  give,  was  com- 
posed a  short  month  before  his  decease,  and  written  in  a  book 
of  his  verses  set  to  times,  which  he  gave  his  sister  Charlotte. 
November,  1838. 

On  tho  lark  aye  sings  the  sweeter 

The  higher  that  it  flies, 
And  the  heavy  heart's  aye  lighter 

When  to  God  its  breathings  rise; 


JOHN    ALEXANDER   PRINGLE.  93 

But  the  wing  will  droop  that's  weary, 

The  lark  sits  silent  down, 
So  the  sinking  heart  grows  dreary, 

Its  music  ceases  soon. 

Then  let  it  not  surprise  thee, 

That  when  I  take  the  lyre, 
Sweet  memories  of  mercy 

The  lowly  song  inspire. 
The  heart  unhurt,  unhealed, 

Another  lay  may  choose, — 
God's  love  to  man  revealed 

Shall  wake  the  grateful  muse. 

The  eye  in  morning  brightness, 

Unclouded  by  a  tear, 
Sheds  its  own  sunny  lightness 

On  all  that  dazzles  here ; — 
Cast  sorrow"^  shadow  o^r  it, 

And  shorn  of  every  ray, 
He  only  can  restore  it 

Who  wipes  the  tear  away. 

Then  let  it  not  surprise  thee, 

That  when  I  take  the  lyre, 
Sweet  memories  of  mercy 

The  humble  song  inspire. 


94  SELECT    REMAINS    OF    JOHN     ALEXANDER    PR1XGLE. 

The  heart  unhurt,  unhealed, 
May  look  for  other  lays, 

Our  peace  in  Jesus  sealed 

Shall  wake  my  bosom's  praise. 


J.  A.  P. 


"  And  as  the  lark  sweetly  sings  while  she  soars  on  high,  but  is  sud- 
denly silenced  when  she  falls  to  the  earth,  so  is  the  frame  of  the  soul 
most  delightful  and  divine,  while  it  keeps  in  the  views  of  God  by  con- 
templation. Alas  !  we  make  there  too  short  a  stay,  fall  down  again,  and 
lay  by  our  music.'"     Baxter's  Saint's  Best. 

"  The  above,"  says  his  sister,  ';  was  a  favourite  passage  of  his,  marked 
in  the  book, — he  made  me  read  it  to  him  one  evening,  November,  ISoS." 


THE    END. 


Harrison  and  Co.,  Printers,  St.  Martin's  La.ve. 


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